


Love, All Alike

by Phantoms_and_Foxgloves



Series: Love, All Alike [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, First Time, M/M, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 126,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantoms_and_Foxgloves/pseuds/Phantoms_and_Foxgloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Hey, baby brother.” Grinned Gabe as Castiel slid into the passenger’s seat. “How was day one?”<br/>Castiel considered, his eyes drifting to the spot where Dean had disappeared around the gate. “All in all,” he mused quietly, “surprisingly interesting.”'</p><p>When Castiel Novak realized that he and his hyper-religious father were never going to see eye-to-eye he'd jumped ship, counting on the one person who had managed to escape their poisonous family dynamic to catch him: Gabriel. Now he must face his senior year almost entirely alone, as he tries to learn how to cope with freedom for the first time. </p><p>The title is taken from Jon Donne's "The Sunne Rising". The M rating is for eventual Destiel but it will be a very slow burn, so hang in there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Luminous

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've ever shared and I'm surprised to say it's a High School AU. I usually prefer more canonical stuff but this one just came easier. Comments and criticism are greatly appreciated but please be gentle. Remember: this is an un-beta-ed first attempt!  
> Tentative updates scheduled for Wednesdays.  
> *Now edited, please let me know if you see any further mistakes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, all alike, no seasons knows, nor clime  
> Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.  
> \- John Donne

Castiel could not ever remember having a first day of school that didn’t suck. Utterly. And he had had a lot of first days. 

He hadn’t been foolish enough to hope that this year would be different, but he’d at least hoped that he might be able to bear it with a bit more fortitude. For the first time in his life almost everything else was looking up. He was out of the family house, finally out from under his father’s thumb. Gabe’s was turning out to be better than he expected, close to a respectable high school with good language and science departments. He had a job for the first time ever at the bookstore/cafe around the corner from Gabe’s and while it didn’t pay very much he was actually good at it. His boss was nice and he was getting used to speaking with customers. The last month had been wonderful, but inevitably August had rolled to a close and his senior year was upon him, a final first day to endure. 

It wasn’t that Castiel disliked school - quite the opposite, actually - it was the other students that confounded him. Or rather, he confounded them. He was too quiet, his gaze too steady. He knew more about classical literature than television shows and absolutely nothing about sports (unless you counted fencing, which no one seemed to). The long and short of it was that he didn’t belong. 

And that was fine, it really was. He didn’t need to fit in. He knew who he was. He was content in his solitude and perfectly capable of keeping himself company, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to watch them figured it out. Each time he came to a new school he had to watch their eyebrows raise as he said the wrong thing, watch them slowly drift further and further away until he became invisible again. It usually took about three weeks before even the most determined “welcome wagon” types gave him up as a lost cause. 

At least Lawrence high had been a large enough school that he was spared the awkward task of introducing himself in front of the whole class. What sadist had started that ridiculous tradition? Still, right from the moment Gabe had peeled away from the curb in a streak of hideous Hawaiian shirt Castiel had known today would be no different. 

The first thing he had noticed was the building itself. He was used to smooth stone and ivy trellises, stained glass and brass door knockers. Not cement courtyards littered with cigarette butts. The tall windows of the school’s lower floor had heavy-duty wire mesh across them, lending the place a prison-like feel that was only reinforced by the security cameras blooming from every corner and doorway.

The second thing he had noticed was that he was clearly dressed wrong. All his previous schools had been religious institutions where uniforms were required. Castiel only owned a handful of white button-downs and a few pairs of black slacks. Lawrence was a public high school, and he felt almost dizzy at the riotous swirl of colors and clashing patterns that made up the student body. His sleek wingtips stuck out among the neon sneakers and fluff-covered boots. His black hair was combed neatly back from his forehead and clearly he had also made a mistake there. It appeared that at least half of the boys wandering towards the school likely didn’t own a hairbrush at all. _At least I didn’t bother with the tie_ , he’s thought ruefully as he joined the throng and made his way to the door. 

And it had only gone downhill from there. Each of his classes had given a quiz designed to assess whether the students remembered any of the course material after a long, lazy summer. Castiel had finished each one within fifteen minutes. None of the teachers had any other work planned so he had spent a large portion of his day staring out the window to keep himself from accidentally staring at the other students. Gabe - along with most other people he had ever known - had mentioned that people tended to find that sort of thing “freaky”.

Despite his efforts to appear at least moderately normal, not a single student had spoken to him. All day. At first they had all seemed caught up in the business of reuniting, trading high-fives and back-slaps with almost cartoonish delight. Castiel had watched it all detachedly, briefly wondering what it must feel like to pass more than a single year in one school. Once the elation of greeting each other had worn off they all seemed too absorbed in their new classes to care about the quiet boy in the corner. 

Lunch had been a confusing experience, the cafeteria a den of unrestrained chaos that smelled strongly of bleach and industrial detergent. What they called pizza appeared to be a piece of toast with ketchup and cheese smeared across it and the only beverages available were carbonated. He’d managed to find a mostly-unbruised apple and a bottle of water to tide him over until school let out. 

At least it was over now, he thought, pressing two fingers to his temple and wishing he’d thought to bring a bottle of aspirin. Crowds always gave him a headache. 

He stood on the corner near a small side gate with his sleeves rolled up around the elbows, waiting for Gabriel to arrive. It was hot in Lawrence at this time of year and he felt a stray bead of sweat trickle down his back. Gabriel had insisted on picking him up rather than letting him walk the ten or so blocks to the bakery. 

“What kind of big bro would I be if I didn’t pick you up from your first day?” He’d asked. Castiel hadn’t had an answer for that so it was agreed. Now he stood, watching cars come and go through the gates, students crowding past and calling to one another with nearly as much enthusiasm as they had this morning. 

“Hey, it’s the perv!”

Castiel let his eyes slip closed, recognizing the booming voice from his government class. 

Raphael. 

He glanced over his shoulder to find he and a few other boys swaggering towards him up the sidewalk. He took in their flashy clothes and designer watches, their artfully distressed jeans and Italian leather shoes - they looked so ludicrous on weedy high school students - slapping noisily on the pavement. At least something seemed to translate seamlessly from private to public education: the contemptible rich kids. 

It had taken all of three seconds for Castiel to realize that this was the self-appointed king of the senior class, with his court of cronies hanging on his every word. As they’d waited for the bell to announce the start of government, he had announced loudly several times that his father owned multiple car dealerships around the state and would be happy to loan out various models to any of the friends Raphael deemed worthy of such an honor. 

Castiel had nearly sprained something trying not to roll his eyes. Unfortunately Raphael had noticed Castiel’s lack of awe at his magnanimity and taken offence. Only the timely arrival of their teacher had prevented a scene from erupting.

“Good afternoon.” Castiel murmured as inoffensively as possible, hoping they would pass him by. 

It was a vain hope, obviously.

Raphael stopped directly in front of him, his hands planted aggressively on his hips and a smirk firmly fixed on his thick lips. Castiel had to hold his breath to keep from choking on the massive cloud of cologne that wafted off Raphael. It was enough to make his eyes water. 

“So what’s your deal, perv?” Raphael snapped pugnaciously, puffing his chest out as his cronies snickered. 

“‘My deal’?” Castiel sighed. He was really far too tired for this. 

“Yeah. Your deal. You were staring at Amelia like a fucking pervert all through government this morning.” 

Castiel tried to remember. “Ah.” He said finally, “The redheaded girl. Her hair was really quite lovely.”

One of the shorter boys sniggered. “‘Really quite lovely!’” He parroted in a dreadful accent. 

Castiel frowned. “I am not British, if that’s what that voice was supposed to indicate.”

“Are you some kinda robot?” demanded Crony Number Two. This one had a particularly bad case of acne that was almost certainly not being helped by his liberal application of aftershave. Did these boys have no sense of smell left whatsoever? 

“No.” Castiel said flatly. Even their insults were boring. 

“Listen, Android.” Snapped Raphael, real anger clouding his large brown eyes now. “Amelia is with me and you’re going to keep your fucking eyes off her, you understand? Don’t talk to her, don’t look at her, and don’t even let me catch you breathing the same air. Got it?”

“I was not aware women were still considered property in the state of Kansas.” Castiel couldn’t help the disdainful sneer in his voice, and he watched Raphael stiffen in response. “And in any case I don’t believe it is up to anyone but Amelia to dictate who does and does not have permission to speak with her.”

Suddenly a large hand was at his collar and his shoulders pressed against the brick wall. “You little fucker.” Hissed Raphael, crowding up against Castiel. 

“Make him bleed, Raf.” Hissed the third flunkie viciously. Castiel wondered if it might be worth it to fight back. He was vastly outnumbered but he doubted very much that any of these boys had any sort of training. Still, four to one was not really a favorable beginning to a fight, particularly when at least three of them were significantly larger than he.

Raphael glared down at Castiel, an ugly look in his eyes. “I’m gonna-“

“Hey! Teenage Mutant Ninja Douche!” a gruff call interrupted whatever threat was on the tip of Raphael’s tongue and he and his three henchmen turned. Released from his hold, Castiel slumped slightly, wishing he’d just walked the ten blocks or so to Gabe’s store.

“Oh, it’s the townie.” sneered Raphael, but his posture changed slightly. Suddenly his shoulders were hunched a bit, his chin dropped closer to his chest. He was afraid of this man striding confidently across the street. As he rubbed at his neck Castiel took in the stranger. 

And suddenly forgot to breathe. 

He was lovely. Dazzling. Castiel could only stare as he trotted right up to them, a grim smile touching his perfectly-shaped lips. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, with sandy hair pushed into a mess of spikes. His broad shoulders were beautifully muscled beneath his faded navy t-shirt and his movements were lithe and confident. A small galaxy of dusty freckles were flung across his sharp nose, reflecting in verdigris eyes sharp as lightning. His long lashes leant him an almost feminine charm and the glimmer of gold stubble added a rough edge. 

Luminous.

That struck Castiel as the correct word to describe this man, luminous. It was a strange thought, really, but it fit. 

“Shouldn’t you be out banging trailer trash, Winchester?” Raphael’s crude tone brought Castiel back to the present.

The stranger rolled his eyes, looking not at all concerned that he was outnumbered. “The minute you’re mom’s free I’ll get right on that.” He snarked, and Castiel felt his lips twitch towards a smile. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, you fucking loser?” demanded Crony Three. “You a fucking pedophile coming around a school as a grown-ass fucking man?” 

The stranger snorted. “Four ‘fucks’ in two sentences. Careful Kennedy or you’ll run out of your daily allowance and have to ask daddy for more.”

“Shut it, pedo.” Snapped Crony Two.

“Pipe down, Rigby.” the stranger suggested, a friendly smile stunning Castiel afresh. “Or I might just take a mind to tell Chuck about that little stash of coke you think is so well hidden behind the bleachers.”

Crony Two paled. “How-“

“Run along, douchewads.” He commanded, flicking his hand at them dismissively. “Slink away in your eurotrash cars and jack off to Jersey Shore reruns.”

Raphael cast him a black look but they moved off, leaving Castiel to stare at the stranger in wonder. 

“Hey, kid. You alright?” As he moved closer Castiel’s mind went curiously blank except for that one word again: Luminous.

“Kid? They get you in the head?” Castiel blinked, seeing real concern in the stranger’s green eyes. 

“Fine.” He managed to croak. “I’m fine.”

He was graced with an easy smile. “Good. Look, I uh, didn’t mean to jump right in there. Sure you had it handled and all.” He winked. 

“Of course.” Castiel nodded, wondering what he was saying. He certainly had not had that handled. 

“It’s just that I hate that Raphael kid. Spoiled little shit.” He threw a scowl at Raphael’s retreating party.

“Ah.” Castiel said, smoothing his shirt and trying to keep his eyes on his own hands. For some reason he felt almost compelled to look at this man - really look - but he was also very sure that he did not want to upset him with his ‘creepy stare’. The result must have looked equally strange as he flicked his eyes back and forth between the man’s face and his shoes. “Thank you for your assistance.” 

“Uh, sure thing.” The stranger smiled, bemused. Perhaps Castiel was being a little formal. 

“I’m Castiel.” He said, offering his hand. The stranger’s eyebrows shot up and Castiel braced himself for the inevitable comment. He was well aware his name was unusual, why everyone felt they should point that out to him immediately he’d never understand. 

“Dean.” Said the stranger, shaking his hand firmly. No comment, interesting. “Nice to meet ya.”

“And you.” Castiel nodded, wishing he could let his fingers linger on Dean’s callused palm but fairly sure that fell into the category of ‘strange’. As it was he stood just a beat too long, just a touch too still, and he saw the change in Dean’s posture, the tightening around his eyes. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.” He guessed, withdrawing his hand. 

“What? No.” Dean laughed nervously, wiping his hand on his dark jeans. “No just… you look sort of familiar.”

Castiel appreciated the dissimilation and smiled faintly. “I’m quite sure we’ve never met.” He said softly. 

“Right.” They stood for a moment, just staring at one another, until Dean began to shift his weight uncomfortably. “Well, nice to meet you, Castiel. I got to go, but don’t let those assholes push you around, alright?” 

“Alright.” It was an easy enough agreement in the moment, though Castiel rather doubted his ability to keep it long-term. 

“Well, see you around, kid.” And with a small wave Dean disappeared through the gate. As Castiel stood there, wondering how it was that a person could make the whole rest of the world seem a bit faded, he heard the now-familiar engine of Gabriel’s Camaro. 

“Hey, baby brother.” Grinned Gabe as Castiel slid into the passenger’s seat. “How was day one?”

Castiel considered, his eyes drifting to the spot where Dean had disappeared around the gate. “All in all,” he mused quietly, “surprisingly interesting.” 


	2. A Fresh Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Now edited. Please let me know if you see any other glaring errors!

Dean sauntered through the lobby of Lawrence High, a film of nostalgia thick on every door and corkboard. Not so long ago he’d been prowling these halls, chasing cheerleaders and ditching class like a pro. Dean might have changed a lot in the intervening year and a half, but Lawrence High sure as hell hadn’t. Everything was exactly the same, from the brightly colored banners for the drama club to the flyers for some shitty student band. Even the graffiti bleeding through the paint on the mens’ room door was still there. It was like stepping back in time. Just the smell of industrial floor polish brought back memories of Jenny Canto in the music room that were enough to curl his toes in his boots. 

That had only been a year and a half ago and yet it felt like a lifetime, and not just because the students streaming past him on their break for freedom seemed so young, practically fetuses. He felt like a perv checking out a hot blond that wandered by, even if her low-cut shirt was glaringly cleave-tastic. Hell, he could remember that Raphael kid throwing up freshman year before football tryouts, giving Sammy a swirly on his first day and pissing his pants when Dean threatened to cut his balls off if he ever touched his little brother again. And now he was the resident despot of the senior class? Christ. There were just no standards anymore. 

Luckily Sammy was big enough to fight his own battles now, so Dean didn’t have to worry about Raphael beating him up anymore. That didn’t mean he didn’t have to worry at all, though. If the last year had taught him anything it was that Sammy still needed someone looking out for him. That was still Dean’s job. And he was going to do a better job this year, that was for damn sure.

Dean’s thoughts flashed back to the kid he’d bailed out on the sidewalk. He was a strange one. Kind of scrawny and painfully uptight, yet he hadn’t seemed phased at all by that little dick Raphael pinning him to the wall. Dean had seen enough bullying in his life to know that most kids in his place would have been shitting themselves, but it had been four on one and the kid was cool as a cucumber. They’d have mopped the floor with - what was his name? Castiel? And yet he’d just stood there, blue eyes staring, like he was waiting for a bus or something. That kid was going to get the snot beat out of him real quick. 

“Dean Winchester!” Dean was shaken from his thoughts to find Principle Chuck Shurley jogging towards him, dodging students as they hurried past. Chuck. His usual rumpled suit and neatly-trimmed beard were a swift kick right in the yesteryear. 

“Hey, Chuck!” Dean grinned, slapping the smaller man on the shoulder. He’d never gotten into the habit of calling the principle anything else, even when he was a student. 

“No point in correcting you anymore, I suppose.” Chuck chortled, as if reading his mind. He was young, probably mid-thirties, and nearly a foot shorter than Dean. Dean had never quite been able to see him as an authority figure. It wasn’t Chuck’s fault, really. It was hard to see most people as authority figures when you grew up with John Winchester. 

“What brings you back to our hallowed halls?” asked Chuck. 

“Just picking Sammy up before my shift.” Dean explained, shoving his hands in his pockets. “First day, and all that.” 

“Bobby has you working evenings now?” 

“Well, sometimes.” Dean agreed uneasily. He’d been working at Singer Salvage steadily since they moved back to Lawrence a few years ago, and he’d worked on Chuck’s car a few times himself.  

“Ah. Sam tells me you’re working two jobs now?” Dean squirmed at the knowing glint in Chuck’s eye. Chuck knew a lot more about the Winchester family than Dean would have liked, and that meant he knew exactly why Dean was working two jobs. 

“Yeah, well.” He said, scuffing his boot on the floor. “You just let me know if Sammy’s grades start to slip cause if I’m working my ass off he better at least get into a decent school.”

Chuck smiled, patting Dean’s shoulder in a bizarrely fatherly manner. “Don’t worry, Dean. Sam is my star pupil. He’s made mistakes but he’s trying to make them up. We’ll keep him on track, between us.” 

“Sure.” Dean shrugged, looking anywhere but Chuck’s big, watery blue eyes. “Look, uh, say hi to Mrs. J for me. Tell her she better not be eyeing up any of these kids. I’m still her main man.”

Chuck laughed, letting Dean distract him from the difficult topic of Sam’s history. “I’ll be sure to mention it.” Mrs. J was the ancient secretary, easily closing in on 90. Her last name was some tongue twister with far too many consonants - Polish, Dean was pretty sure - and barely anyone could pronounce it, so Mrs. J she remained. For some reason she’d never retired and no one had seemed to put up a fuss about it. She was sharp as a tack and had harbored a soft spot for Dean from the moment he’d tried to butter her up to get out of his first detention freshman year.

“Good to see you, Chuck.” Dean, backed away, waving a half-hearted salute and Chuck returned it.

“You too, Dean.” He smiled, turning back into his office. 

Dean gave up trying to get through the herds of kids swarming towards the lobby and parked himself by the doors to cafeteria, leaning back against the lockers and watched the children trail by. Had it always been such a frigging zoo in the afternoons? Thinking back on it Dean didn’t really ever remembering being here for more than two seconds after the final bell rang. Just as he was contemplating punching the next kid that ran into him and didn’t even say sorry he spotted Sammy’s hair flopping towards him nearly half a foot above the rest of the student body. 

He was still getting used to seeing his brother look so normal again. He’d put on weight, lost that haggard look he’d had last Christmas. His cheekbones would always be more prominent than Dean’s but they didn’t cast shadows down to his jaw anymore. His skin had gained back its usual healthy tan and he moved without the constant ache that had slowed him for months. Beyond all that he just looked happier. His smile was back, the real one that bloomed slowly across his goofy face and just kept spreading, not that horrible hollow smirk he’d brandished like a weapon. He was warm and light and alive again, and some days it still stopped Dean in his tracks to see it. 

He was with a group of friends - Sam usually was - and Dean was pleased to realize he didn’t recognize any of them. He’d been a bit worried - okay, he’d been a frigging wreck - about sending Sam back to this school with all that had happened last year, but Sam had insisted he could do it. And despite Dean’s mother-hen-on-steroids instincts he couldn’t really deny Sam anything when he got that _face._

“Sammy!” he called, cupping one hand to his mouth to be heard over the din. His younger brother’s head snapped up and Dean started jumping up and down and waving in the most embarrassing display he could manage. Sam went total bitchface instantly and Dean grinned. The pretty brunette chick hanging off Sam’s elbow - damn, that kid worked fast - whispered something into Sammy’s ear and he turned beet red, his eyes darting to Dean guiltily. It would have been hilarious if the girl didn’t look so much like a certain bitch Dean was trying very hard to forget. 

He scowled as he watched Sam say his goodbyes, eyeing the brunette warily. With his big goofy arms swinging wildly through the sea of puny humans, Sam made his way over to Dean.  

“Hey, Sasquatch.”

“Dean, you didn’t have to come in to get me.” Sam hissed, blushing to the roots of his too-long hair. 

“Never miss a chance to embarrass my baby brother, Sammy.” Dean punched him in the shoulder lightly, glancing back at the girl who was still watching them. “Who’s that?” he asked. He was aiming for casual but he could tell by the way Sam’s eyes snapped to his face he’d missed by about a mile and half.  

“Just a friend, Dean.” Sam whined in that ‘don’t lecture me’ voice. 

“Looks awfully familiar, doesn’t she?” Dean observed sourly, unable to keep the enmity out of his voice. 

Sam stopped, looking down at his gargantuan feet. For a second he looked so much younger, timid and fragile as he hadn’t been in years. Dean had to bite his cheek to keep from throwing a hug at the kid. “Dean,” he said softly, keeping his eyes down. “I’m not stupid, ok? Marissa’s nothing like Ruby. She’s in my AP classes, she plays soccer, and she wants to join the debate team. I’m not gonna make the same mistakes this year. Ok?”

Dean sighed, trying to relax his fists where they were clenched at his sides. “Yeah, I know, Sammy. Just, be smart, ok?”

“I’m trying to.” Sam smiled, falling in step as they turned back towards the lobby. “Jeez. It’s only the first day and you’re already going Super Saiyan over some girl talking to me.” 

Dean laughed. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged. He was trying to curb the instinct to grab Sam and lock him in Bobby’s basement until he was forty-five and Dean was one-hundred percent sure he could take care of himself. As it was he would just have to shake it off. 

“Figured we’d celebrate your first day back with a burger before my shift tonight.” Sam’s face softened, his eyebrows scrunching up like a worried kitten as he looked his brother up and down. “Don’t give me the face.” Dean warned, cutting off the inevitable ‘I appreciate what you’re doing and I feel guilty every minute’ speech he could feel bleeding out of Sam’s pores. “Ellen needs the help and I make crazy tips there. And I’m sure she wants to hear all about your super-nerd classes, so lets get down there and get some burgers, alright?”

Sam looked at him a moment longer before he nodded, his smile soft and gooey and disgusting and perfect. “Sure, Dean.” 

“Good.” Dean nodded, ignoring the lump in his throat. He was as big a girl as Sam was these days. 

 

*   *   * 

 

The Roadhouse was a beaten-down old bar near the river and with the exception of Singer Salvage across town, Dean’s favorite place in the world. From the outside it looked like a reject from a John Wayne film, its faded wood siding splintering to dust where the paint had long-ago peeled away. The inside wasn’t much different. A scarred wooden bar held up by leprous brass poles stretched across one entire wall, leaving the rest of the room free for squat tables surrounded by waxy wooden chairs. A row of six booths along the back was were lit by knock-off tiffany lamps, lending a smoky glow to the room even at two in the afternoon. 

It may have looked like a dump, but everyone in Lawrence knew that the best damn burgers in the state came from the Roadhouse. 

As Dean and Sam pushed through the squeaky door they were greeted with a hearty round of whistles from the few regulars planted at the bar. Ellen popped her head out of the kitchen and the commotion and smiled when she was the cause. 

“‘Bout time you boys got here!” she called, tossing her blond hair back. “Burgers’ll be out in two minutes.”

“You’re the best, Ellen!” Dean called, swinging a chair back and dropping into it. Sam settled across from him, an easy smile on his face. Ellen was just about the hardest-working woman they knew, and had helped them out of a few scrapes growing up. She was practically family, and since she was the owner and proprietor of the Roadhouse and could be found behind the bar every day but Sunday, the boys looked on this place as a bit of a home away from home. Their father, John, had never been the steadiest of men, moving them from place to place in search of work, then in search of booze. Dean couldn’t count the number of times he and Sam had been dumped on Ellen and Bobby with no idea when or if John was coming back for them. 

She knew this was a big day for them, and soon she appeared with two plates piled high with fries and two enormous cheeseburgers. No sooner had she set them down than she threw a massive hug around Sam’s shoulders, cradling his head to her chest. 

“I am so proud of you.” She muttered into his hair, and Dean was startled to see tears in here usually steely eyes. 

“What the hell is wrong with all of us today?” Dean muttered, trying to hide his own misty expression in a scowl. 

“Not a thing, Dean.” Ellen smiled, releasing Sam and smoothing his hair across his forehead. Sam was biting his lip, that guilty tilt to his shoulders. 

“That’s right.” Dean declared cheerfully, slapping his hand down on the table. “Sam aced his first day back, we’ve got some frigging delicious burgers, my baby’s sitting in the parking lot with a fresh coat of paint, and all is right with the world.”

Sam laughed. “You can’t really ace the first day of junior year, Dean.” He pointed out. “They basically just take attendance and pass out syllabi.”

Dean ripped a huge bite out of his burger and chewed noisily, relishing the faintly nauseous look Sam got when he was being disgusting. “Did you show up to every class?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got every syllabus?”

“Of course.” 

“Aced it.” Dean grinned, bits of burger between his teeth. 

“You’re an idiot.” Sam laughed, chucking a napkin at his face. Dean threw a french fry at him.

“Hey!” Ellen barked, cuffing Dean on the back of the head. “You mess up my bar and you’re gonna spend your night scrubbing these floors with a sponge, Winchester.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean nodded. They ate while Sam told Ellen all about his new classes. Dean couldn’t help but be slightly amazed at his brainy little brother’s work load this year. He was taking three AP classes and the rest all honors. The only advanced class Dean had ever taken was shop, and honestly he’d spent more time carving swear words into scrap wood than building that cabinet for Bobby. 

“You just make sure you pace yourself, kid.” Ellen said gently. “You got the brains to go as far as you want, so long as you keep and eye on your heart, too.”

Sam smiled under the praised. “Thanks, Ellen.” He murmured. Ellen nodded and ruffled his hair one more time before turning back to the bar to refill Ed the mailman’s glass. 

“That’s good advice, Sammy.” Dean said, unable to keep himself quiet. “You start getting too stressed you back off a little, alright? Slacking a bit now and then isn’t gonna kill you. That other shit will.” 

“I know, Dean.” Sam said, looking Dean in the eye. 

“Good.” Dean dusted the salt from his hands and grabbed Sam’s mostly empty plate. “I gotta get behind the bar here in a minute but you want me to drive you home first?” 

“Nah.” Sam slouched back, rubbing at his belly. “Jo was gonna meet me here after the field hockey try-outs to go over the reading list. Then we were going to head over to Gabe’s.”

“Sounds good.” Dean agreed, his chair scraping along the floor as he stood. “Tell Gabe he’s an asshole for me.” In truth he’d have preferred Sam stay for a while, if only so Dean could keep an eye on him. But part of them getting their lives back on track was him learning to trust Sam again, and that wasn’t going to happen if he never gave Sam the chance to prove he deserved it. Besides, Jo and Gabe would keep their eyes on him nearly as closely as Dean would, so how much trouble could the kid really get himself into? Dean shuddered and tried not to think about how much he didn’t want that question answered. 

“Will do.” Sam agree. “And I’ll call you when we’re on our way back.”

“Good.” 

“And Dean?”

“Yeah?” he turned to find Sam staring at him in full puppy mode. 

“Thank you.”

Damnit, the kid was gonna make him well up again. He scowled, forcing the tears back down as he gazed back at his brother, happy and healthy and _here._ “Shut up.” He growled, and headed for the kitchen. 


	3. Reynard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to be cranking these early chapters out faster than I thought. I make no promises about this trend continuing.

“Ground Control to Major Tom!” A hand waving in front of his face was enough to bring Castiel back to earth, blinking. Gabriel stared at him, amusement and concern all over his expressive face. 

“Sorry.” Castiel muttered, shaking his head and wondering where he’d lost track and started drifting. A ragged copy of _The Count Of Monte Cristo_ lay open in his lap and his tea was nearly cold. 

He’d put in four hours at the book store after his brief and very late lunch with Gabriel, and he was beginning to wonder if the little pinprick of pain in his head was permanent. So many people, so many voices, all chattering and whirling around him like fast-flowing water. Now as he sat in the corner of the little cafe section of _Reynard_ , the bakery Gabriel had started when he moved to Lawrence, he stared into his cup of tea and tried to find quiet. 

“You feeling ok?” Gabe asked, collecting the discarded coffee cups. Castiel glanced over, still surprised to see how Gabriel had aged. In Castiel’s head Gabriel was still the angry fifteen-year-old who had disappeared into the night after an epic shouting match that had left their father stonily silent for days. That had been ten years ago, when Castiel was only seven. It was still a bit startling to see Gabriel as a man, confident and sarcastic and _happy_. He hadn’t grown any taller, but he’d bulked out at the shoulders and jaw. He also seemed to have developed a passion for obnoxiously patterned clothing in their years apart. Today’s shirt was a particularly vile green and yellow number. 

“I’m fine.” Castiel assured him with a weak smile. “Just a little tired.” 

“Well, perk up. You’re scaring away my customers.” 

“That seems unlikely.” Smiled Castiel, looking around the bustling bakery. It was nearly nine PM and the place was still crowded, students from the University packed into every corner downing coffee and pastries as fast as Gabriel’s staff could turn them out. Mismatched armchairs and ottomans clustered here and there around low tables and the only bright lights were aimed at the funky local art on the brick walls. The whole place smelled of cinnamon and dark roast, and Castiel couldn’t help but see Gabriel in every inch of the place. 

“They like this place.” Castiel said fondly. 

Gabriel grinned. “Course, they do! I make a mean cinnamon bun.”

“You’ve built a very good life here.” Castiel said, knowing it was true. Gabriel had always been the most cheerful of his siblings, but here he was different. Happy in a way Castiel had never seen before. 

Gabriel paused, peering at him through the curtain of his hair as he leaned over the table. “Yeah.” He said finally, sitting down across from Castiel. “You doing ok, kid? You… happy, here?” 

“Do I not seem happy?” Castiel asked, tilting his head curiously. He tried not to think about what it meant that no one had ever asked him such a thing before. 

Gabriel scoffed, but there was warmth in his voice as he spoke. “Hard to tell with you, kid. You’re a tough nut to crack. And look, I… I remember what it was like. Leaving. So… just…” he shrugged. Gabriel wasn’t usually one to lose his words and Castiel took pity on him, patting his hand gently. 

“I’m getting there.” He assured him.

Gabe’s expression relaxed back into his usual smug self-confidence. “First days suck, kid.” He declared, poking Castiel in the forehead as he stood back up. “You’ll get some sleep tonight and hit it hard in the morning. And if anyone gives you shit just make sure you tell them you’re big brother will kick their asses. Got it?”

Castiel shook his head as Gabriel picked up his tray and tromped back towards the kitchen. The bell above the door chimed, drawing his attention. A pair of incongruously matched teenagers stood in the doorway, looking about for an empty table. One was a petite blonde girl with large, doe-like eyes and the other was a ludicrously tall boy with a mop of messy brown hair. Both were dressed in scruffy flannel shirts and faded denim, nearly identical work boots tracking dirt across Gabriel’s newly-swept floor. She wore a leather jacket and a studded leather belt around her tiny waist, while the boy carried a canvas backpack that looked stuffed with books. 

The only two chairs not currently filled were the two at Castiel’s little table, and the blond noticed. Motioning to the boy to wait where he was, she trotted over.

“Hi.” She raised her hand, cheerfully snapping her gum. “Casper, isn’t it?” 

“Castiel.” He corrected softly. “Have we met?” He was quite sure they hadn’t. 

She grinned. “Not really. I’m in your gym class.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t noticed her in the gymnasium, but it was by far the largest class he was in. At least sixty students shared the period and the girls had mostly been kept separate from the boys after roll was called. 

“Look, uh, do you mind if we share your table?” She gestured back towards her hulking friend, who was shifting nervously. “It’s just that it’s so crowded in here.”

“Not at all.” He agreed easily, gesturing to the empty chairs. If he were being honest he’d have preferred not to share his little table, drained as he was, but it felt ungrateful to deny Gabriel’s customers a place to sit simply because he was tired. Gabriel was the reason he had a place to sleep at all. 

“Cool!” She beamed, waving the tall boy over. “I’m Jo and this is Sam.”

The boy was even taller up-close, his plaid-swathed shoulders nearly blocking out the light as he towered over the table. Castiel suddenly felt very small, but he guessed that this boy made most people feel that way. 

“Hi.” Said Sam, offering a broad hand. 

“Castiel.” He allowed the giant to engulf his hand in a hearty shake. 

“Nice to meet you.” said Sam, sliding into the chair across from him. Jo dropped her jacket on the back of her chair and held her hand out to Sam. 

“Your turn to pay.” She informed him primly, and with a grimace he dug a wallet from his back pocket. 

“Get me a coffee and a banana muffin.”

“Sure thing. Back in a sec.” She threw a wink at Castiel and trotted over to join the line near the register. 

Castiel began to pick up his book, assuming that the pair would ignore him once they settled into their seats. 

He jumped a bit when Sam spoke, leaning his elbows on the little table. “Cool name. That’s biblical, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” Castiel nodded, surprised. Few people had ever recognized the name, and he couldn’t ever remember anyone saying it was ‘cool’. He found himself explaining further without prompting. “My father felt quite strongly that all his children should have biblical names.”

Castile waited for the inevitable funny look. Even at the strictly Catholic schools he had attended all his life the moment someone heard he came from a large, religious family they immediately shifted away, as though he’d told them some shameful secret.

Sam didn’t seem put off, though. “How many kids in your family?” he asked, glancing over to where Jo was testing cookie samples. 

“Five.” Castiel said quietly, wishing he’d not mentioned it at all. Sam seemed nice enough, and he’d have liked to maintain a peaceful air while they shared their table. The more they talked about family, the less likely that became. “I am the fifth.”

“Wow. That’s a big family.” Sam said. Castiel peered at him, searching for the judgmental twist of the lips that usually accompanied that statement. Surprisingly, he found nothing but an open, honest expression. Interesting. “I only have a big brother,” he continued easily, “though he’s probably got enough ego to count as two or three normal siblings.”

Despite his rather harsh assessment of his brother, Castiel saw a soft smile touch Sam’s eyes. 

“You love him very much.” He observed, tilting his head when Sam blinked at him. Castiel repressed a sigh, wondering if he would ever learn what was and wasn’t appropriate small-talk. “I’m sorry.” He said, “It just seems your meaning didn’t match your words.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Sam agreed, his smile widening. “Yeah. I love him, even if I want to put superglue in his hair gel sometimes.”

Castiel smiled. “That sounds like something Gabriel would do.” 

“SAMMY!” Gabe appeared as if summoned, one arm wrapped around Jo’s neck and the other laden with a tray of fresh scones. “I see you’ve met the little bro! Castiel, this is Sam Winchester and Jo Harvelle. They’re friends of mine, which means they’re shameless moochers.”

“You bet.” Sam agreed with a grin. “Got any coffee cake left?”

“Got any money this time?” Gabe shot back.

“You’re Gabe’s brother?” Jo asked, setting a coffee in front of Sam and ducking out from under Gabe. “No wonder you were hiding over here. I wouldn’t admit to being blood with this creep either.” She settled into the chair beside him, plucking her gum from her mouth and sticking it to the side of her plate.

Castiel ducked his head, a blush creeping up over his cheeks. He hadn’t counted on people thinking Gabriel was strange, too. Admittedly he _was_ quite strange, but he was quite good at blending in with the rest of humanity when he wanted to. Although Castiel supposed standing out really was Gabriel’s forte. “I-“

“Hey!” Gabe cut him off, bouncing a scone off her forehead. It landed in a crumbly mess in the middle of the table, and Sam snatched it immediately. “No picking on Cassie.” Gabriel chided. “He’s a delicate flower and I won’t have you squashing him with your big ugly man boots. And put that gum in a napkin, you heathen. I’m not picking your spearmint off my good china again.” 

Castiel frowned. “I am not a flower.” He said fiercely, surprising even himself. Gabe laughed and Jo grinned. “And don’t call me Cassie.” 

Sam laughed, tossing his floppy hair out of his eyes. “What did I tell you, dude? Big brothers are dicks.” 

“That’s my job.” Gabe agreed easily. “Speaking of, where is Winchester the Elder tonight? I’ve got a hell of a cherry pie with his name on it.” 

“Working.” That soft look was back in Sam’s eye as he tore into the scone. “Says he’s gotta shore up my college fund before next year. He also said to tell you you’re an asshole.” 

Gabriel shook his head. “That guy’s gonna work himself sick by the time you even start applying. Sam here’s going to be a hot shot lawyer.” Gabe explained to Castiel, “He’s head of the debate team, so basically king of the nerds. Plays lacrosse like a beast, though, so I guess that saves him from total dork status.” 

“Gee, thanks, Gabe.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“You’re welcome.” Gabe grinned. “Well, if he doesn’t have the decency to come get it himself you can at least take that pie home for him. I’ll box it up.” Gabe turned to Castiel, a vicious smile lighting his face. “Now’s your chance to make friends, Cassie. Play human for a bit, alright?” 

Castiel scowled but Gabe laughed, mussing his hand through his brother’s hair before he trotted back to the kitchen.

“So Gabe’s your brother, hu? That must have been a frigging trip growing up.” Jo said, snatching half of the scone he’d lobbed at her head and trading Sam his muffin. 

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “He was always very kind to me.” He murmured. It was the truth. Despite all his jokes Gabriel has always been the one to hold Castiel when he was hurt or upset, the first to make him laugh again when the tears were dried. He’d watched over Castiel, encouraged his curiosity and pushed him to think about the world around him rather than just accepting everything at face value. He had been Castiel’s closest friend when he was a child. 

But the memory of that night, the shouting…

Sam shifted, for the first time seeming uncomfortable. “He uh… He told me some about his family. Said he hadn’t seen them in a decade.” 

Castiel nodded. “I was seven when he left.”

“That must have been rough, man.” Sam said, his eyes wide and glistening. 

“Oh, would you knock off the puppy dog eyes?” Jo moaned around a mouthful of scone. “You’ve known the kid for, like, five minutes and you’ve already got him talking about his emotional baggage? You should go into psychiatry instead of law you big girl.” 

“Shut it, Jo.” Sam laughed. 

“So what year are you, Castiel?” she asked, sipping her coffee. “I didn’t see you in any of my other classes but gym.”

“I’m a senior.” Castiel said, glad to be off the subject of family. 

“Oh. We’re juniors.” Sam explained. “Jo’s practically the only one in our whole grade that still has to get her phys ed requirement in, though.” 

Jo scowled. “I don’t see how wandering around a gym with forty sweaty boys trying to get a look up your shorts is education.”

Castiel nodded. “At my previous schools it was only required that you participate in at least one sport per year. It was a better use of class time, but the requirement made for some very poor teams.” 

Sam laughed. For a while they chatted about sports - Castiel admitted to knowing little to nothing about lacrosse, despite having attended several of the top-placing private institutions over the years. Sam was more than happy to explain the basics, gesturing animatedly with his hands as he did. Jo played field hockey, but wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic about it. Much to his surprise, Castiel found he didn’t mind listening. Sam in particular was very engaging, his body language and gestures effortlessly drawing Castiel into his space. Castiel confessed his love of fencing, to which Jo snorted and Sam’s eyes went wide. 

“That’s _awesome_.” He said. “We have a club but I heard they suck. Maybe you can join it. Kick ‘em into shape.”

Castiel blushed. “I doubt I could teach anyone very much. It’s been months since I had the opportunity to practice.” 

“You’ll still be better than half the kids here, I’m sure.” Jo guessed. “Most of them are just D&D enthusiasts who got carried away.”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “D&D?” he repeated. 

Sam laughed. “It’s a board game, dude. Role playing?”

Castiel could only shrug, drawing another chuckle from the pair. 

“It’s like Lord of the Rings on steroids.” Jo explained. 

“I see.” Castiel was pretty sure he’d read those books, back when Gabriel was living with them. Gabriel had read them _to_ him, if memory served. 

The door rang again and Castiel looked up to see Amelia, Raphael’s auburn-haired girlfriend in the doorway. Another girl was with her but no Raphael, and Castiel couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved. He wasn’t in any way afraid of the boy - he’d been beaten up and ridiculed by far worse - but it would have been a shame to spoil the pleasant conversation with another confrontation. Sam noticed him looking and followed his gaze, a small frown pinching his brow. 

“Dude, I wouldn’t.” He warned, lowering his voice. 

“Excuse me?” Castiel asked, blinking away his distraction. 

“Amelia Harmon. I wouldn’t.” Sam repeated. “She’s a nice girl and all but her boyfriend is a real asshole. Controlling, you know?”

“I had noticed that, yes.” Castiel agreed with a sigh, rubbing absently at the faint bruise under his collar. “It’s a shame. She seems a pleasant enough girl.”

“She’s a total idiot.” Jo said dismissively. “Lets him treat her like a freaking dog. I’d feel bad for her if she had half a brain in that pretty head.” 

“That’s not fair, Jo.” Sam scolded, his eyes doing that wide and wet thing again. The puppy dog look, Jo had called it. Castiel had to admit it was an accurate description. “A lot of smart girls get into abusive relationships. And Raphael Finnerman is one manipulative dick.” 

Jo snorted. “Yeah he is. One more year ’til that douchebag isn’t king of the hill anymore. I’d love to see the moment he gets to college and realizes the rest of the world doesn’t exist to kiss his father’s ass.”

“Is his father very important?” Castiel asked. 

“He thinks he is. He owns two car lots in town and about four others throughout the state. He’s basically local royalty.” Sam explained this with a sour look. 

“You don’t like him, either. Do you?” Castiel guessed. 

“Ah. You know the type.” Sam shrugged. “Big fish quite happy to stay in his small pond.” 

Castiel nodded. “I’ve met a few of those, yes.” 

“Yeah, well, Donald Finnerman is the definition.” Sam sighed. “If you’ve got money he’s happy to kiss your feet. If you don’t…” he shrugged.

“But do you really think Raphael is abusing her?” Castiel asked, growing concerned. Raphael had certainly shown himself to be capable of violence, and Amelia was a small girl in comparison. He shuddered to think what damage Raphael could do even with a single hit. 

“We’ve never seen any marks or anything.” Jo said, watching as Amelia and her friend squeezed into a table near the register. 

“But emotionally?” Sam cast Jo a significant look, “Almost certainly. He beat the shit out of a guy for asking her to prom last spring. Broke his collar bone and everything. Of course his dad smoothed it over.” 

“That’s a shame.” Castiel sighed, gazing again at the lovely girl. “It’s strange to realize that people can be so cruel and call it love.” He murmured, his father’s face looming suddenly before his eyes. He rubbed absently at his cheek, a phantom strike still stinging in his memories. It was enough to make his eyes water. 

“You alright?” Castiel looked up to find that Sam had stood, rounding the table to place a hand on his shoulder. Concern was written large over his open face. Pity? He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed the most likely. Castiel smiled. 

“Perfectly, thank you.” He said, “I was only thinking.”

“Not of anything good, I’d bet.” Jo commented, but she too was looking a little concerned. Castiel blushed. Had his thoughts been so transparent?  

“I’m afraid I’ve met her boyfriend.” He said, hoping to smooth his misstep over. “He took exception to me ‘breathing the same air’, I believe he put it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and slumped back into his seat. “Yeah.” He sighed. “It’s like he thinks he’s a fifties mob boss sometimes. Ridiculous. Listen, if he gives you trouble again let me know. We’ve got sort of a history -“

Jo grinned viciously. “You mean when he dunked your head in the toilet or when you almost broke his wrist last year?”

“Both.” Sam snorted. Castiel noticed a tiny flash of something dark in Sam’s eyes, regret? Embarassement? But it was gone in a flick of his bangs. “Point is he won’t mess with me. So you let me know if you want a hand with him, alright, Castiel?”

Castiel squinted, surprised by the offer of assistance. He had been bullied before over the years, and occasionally another student had offered to protect him. Balthazar, Zach, but it had never turned out well. They would protect him, but soon that turned into something else. They began to look on him as a burden, a sort of pet that owed them fealty for their assistance. He had no interest in entering into such a relationship again. 

“Thank you, but I believe I can take care of myself.” He said coldly. Sam and Jo exchanged a surprised look but backed off. 

“Ok.” Sam said, his eyes calculating. Castiel was suddenly drained, too tired to care what that look meant. He stood, gathering his book and empty cup. 

“It was nice to meet you. I’m afraid I have some work to do before tomorrow. Goodnight.” And without waiting for a response he beat a hasty retreat. 

The night air was lovely and cool and Castiel took a moment to savour it as he leaned against the rough brick of the building. The street was too bright for him to see stars but he tilted his head back anyway, searching. He took a breath, and a moment to think.

He hadn’t expected to get so angry at the offer of assistance, but then he hadn’t expected to enjoy the company of anyone his own age either. He couldn’t remember the last time someone his own age had spoken to him and actually expressed interest in Castiel’s answers. Sam had been so easy to speak with, intelligent and kind without that insufferable solicitousness that came with pity. Jamming his fist into his eye he stumbled into the little doorway that led to the apartment above the bakery, taking two tries to get the key in the lock. 

Had he overreacted? Almost certainly. 

As he climbed the narrow stairway he tried to understand why. He was exhausted, his mind crowded with the voices and faces of everyone he’d met today, but that wasn’t an excuse. Sam had been perfectly honest in his offer to help. So why had Castiel responded so harshly? 

It was fear, he realized, unlocking the door the Gabe’s apartment. He was afraid. He dropped his book on the coffee table and his keys in the bowl, toeing off his shoes and heading straight for his bedroom. It was only nine-thirty but he was going to call it a night. 

It was confusing, this swirl of doubt and fear he found filling his chest. Had he really liked Jo and Sam so much? He had, apparently. Sam in particular. They were different from the kids he was used to, and he’d enjoyed their company. They had poked fun at him a bit but there was no malice in it, and they had spoken with him even though they could have ignored his presence at their table.

But it was a bit too late now. No doubt his bizarre explosion had put Sam and Jo off, made them realize what others seemed to notice right away: he was strange. 

Perhaps he would have the chance to apologize. If they were friends of Gabriel’s he was bound to see them again. That thought was both mortifying and a tiny kernel of hope as Castiel sank fully clothed onto his bed and immediately fell asleep. 


	4. Zero Tolerance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to earn a bit of that M rating with the language in this one. Just a head's up.  
> *Now edited.

The rest of the week crawled by at a glacial pace. Castiel’s teachers seemed determined to spend the first week reviewing the previous year’s material, which left him with the majority of his time to spend staring out the window. In classes where there were no windows he stared at the walls. Despite his assertion that he could look where he liked, he remembered all too vividly the number of times his wandering eyes had gotten him in hot water. He saw very little of Raphael - to his everlasting indifference - but strangely Amelia began popping up in several of his classes. She even went out of her way to sit beside him in Calculus. She never attempted to speak with him, but he could see her watching him sometimes. By Friday afternoon it was beginning to annoy him. 

He was gathering his books to head for lunch when she finally summoned her nerve, tapping his shoulder lightly and scampering back a step. 

“Yes?” he turned, a bit surprised she’d finally decided to speak to him. 

“Hi, um,” she fidgeted, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and tugging. “I saw you at Reynard’s the other night. I just wanted to say, uh, I heard about what Raphael did Monday.”

“Oh.” Castiel wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that so he only lifted an eyebrow in interest. It wasn’t interesting, but it seemed the polite thing to do. 

“Yeah.” She glanced away, shifting her weight onto one hip in a coy pose. Castiel wondered if she knew she was doing it. “Look, he can be kind of a jerk sometimes, but he’s a nice guy really.” She twittered, speaking far too quickly. 

“I have no doubt you believe that.” Castiel nodded. He doubted anyone would stay with that pompous ass if they didn’t believe a decent man was hiding underneath. 

She looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. “Really.” She repeated more firmly. “He’s a good guy at heart.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Castiel sighed, wishing she’d just spit out whatever she was trying to say. He was hungry and he wanted to get to the cafeteria and an empty table before the whole place filled up and he was forced to squeeze in at the end of someone else’s. 

“I just… I know he gets overprotective and I just wanted you to know that I didn’t ask him to do that. And I’ve told him not to do it again. I’m sorry.” She squared her shoulders and Castiel wondered if she’d actually told Raphael this, or pleaded with him. 

“His actions are his own, and his apologies aren’t yours to make.” She winced at his stiff response and he felt a little stab of guilt. She was trying to be nice, he supposed. “But thank you.” He added in a softer tone. 

She blinked, offering him a watery smile before she flitted away. Castiel sighed, wondering how it must be to feel responsible for someone else’s actions. He’s often disagreed with his brothers, watched Michael talk down to his friends and Lucifer torment people for the fun of it, but he’d never felt the slightest urge to apologize for their behavior. He treated people with respect, and it was no more his fault that his brothers seemed unable to than it was their fault that he couldn’t put people at ease. Did they apologize for his lack of social grace?

Come to think of it they had. Profusely. On a number of occasions. How odd. Did they feel some sort of second-hand guilt for his inability to interact comfortably with people? Or was it embarrassment for their own sakes?

He thought about this as he made his way to the cafeteria, sighing as he realized he was too late to find a free table. The place was teeming with students and his ears immediately started buzzing. He curled in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible as he wormed his way towards the lunch counter. Gabriel had begun packing him lunches. It was a kind gesture but they usually included far too many sugary treats for Castiel to be able to stomach them, especially right before gym class. He grabbed an only slightly browned banana, hoping that would be enough to supplement whatever gooey goodies Gabriel had selected for him today.

By the time he was through the check out line he couldn’t see a single seat anywhere. Just as he was thinking it might be best to head to gym early and eat outside the locker room he heard a familiar voice call his name. 

“Castiel!” he turned to find Jo Harvelle standing on a chair and waving at him excitedly. Beside her was Sam, his shoulders hunched inside a canvas coat as though that would disguise his massive frame. 

Castiel considered his options. He could ignore her and drift off to another part of the cafeteria. That option seemed a bit rude as he had already made eye-contact and could hardly pretend not to have heard her strident call. He could make some excuse about having to get to class early, but that was also doomed to failure as he realized Jo was in his gym class. He’d nearly forgotten since they only had gym Mondays and Fridays - how two hours of questionable exercise a week was meant to keep one physically fit was a mystery. 

Realizing there was nothing for it, he squared his shoulders and marched over to join them. There was at least an empty chair, which he supposed might be worth the awkward silence that was about to unfold. 

“Hello.” He said, nodding to Sam, whose face was currently occupied trying to absorb the massive forkful of salad he’d thrust into it. He got a nod in return and a lettuce-laced smile. Jo snatched his wrist, pulling him down beside her. 

“Haven’t seen you all week.” She said, a brilliant smile lighting her face.

“We only have the one class together and this is rather a large school.” He explained patiently. Should they have seen one another? 

She didn’t seem bothered by the obviousness of his statement. “Are you ready for gym?” she asked rolling her eyes broadly. He wasn’t sure whether that was a commentary on himself or gym in general.

“I suppose so.” He shrugged, pulling out the bakery box Gabriel had put in his bag. “What will we be doing?”

“I heard they’re starting with archery. Get a bunch of emotionally fragile teenagers in one place and give them deadly projectiles and little to no supervision. Great idea, right?” She sighed, tossing her hair. 

A gawky boy sat across from Sam, his bulging eyes darting up to Castiel every few seconds as he huddled over a tray of what looked to be baked beans and hot dogs, or at least something close. 

“Castiel,” Sam said, finally swallowing his massive bite, “this is Alfie. He’s captain of the fencing team.”

The skinny boy blushed to the tips of his ears and ducked his head as Castiel’s gaze landed on him. “Captain’s a bit much.” He muttered in a voice almost too soft to hear. “There’s only about four of us and I’m the only one who’s ever been to a real class.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Alfie.” Castiel murmured, looking him over. He had the right build for a fencer, lithe and wiry to present a small target, long limbs that could reach an opponent without exposing himself to strikes. 

“Sam said you might be looking to join?” he peeked hopefully up from under his tightly-curled lashes, his small pink mouth curved in a tentative smile. 

Castiel glanced at Sam, unsure what to think about this news. Was this some sort of ploy to make him feel indebted? Sam returned the look with nothing but a hopeful twist of his eyebrow. “Perhaps.” Castiel shrugged. “I’m afraid I had to leave all my equipment behind.” He opened the bakery box as he spoke and sighed to discover what Gabriel considered lunch. An enormous slice of cardamon cake with lemon glaze, a pair of apple tartlets, and a miniature raspberry cheesecake. 

“Holy crap!” Jo cried, peering over his shoulder. “That’s what you’re eating?”

Castiel rubbed at his temple. “Gabriel seems to be struggling to understand the basics of nutrition.” He explained. 

“Here.” Jo said, snatching the cake, one tartlet, and the cheesecake. She passed the cake to Sam and the tartlet to Alfie, grabbing his bag of potato chips and a plain yogurt from Sam. She took a plastic knife from Sam and sliced through the hamburger she was eating, depositing half into Castiel’s box with a grin. “Now you’ve got a proper lunch and we’ve each got a treat. Good deal, hu?”

“Jo.” Sam chastised, looking guilty. 

“No,” Castiel found himself smiling. “It’s perfect!” Alfie smiled and picked up the tartlet, looking it over carefully. The crust flaked delicately under his gentle touch and the bits of apple gleamed under the glaze.

“It’s so pretty.” He said. 

“His brother owns that bakery, Reynard’s.” Jo explained. 

“Oh. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s nice.” Alfie’s tone grew wistful as he replaced the treat on his tray. Castiel looked him over again and realized that his jeans were clean but worn, his shirt neatly pressed but thinning at the elbows. Everything about him was well-cared for but by no means new. He was about as opposite to Raphael and his gang as you could get. “So how long have you been a fencer?” Alfie asked.

“Since I was four.” Castiel admitted, startled when Sam choked on his smoothie. 

“Four? Woah. You must be seriously good.” He said, his haze eyes wide.

Castiel shrugged self-consciously. “I was, once. It’s been a long time since I competed seriously. 

“If you wanted to join I’m sure you could teach us a bunch. Our advisor only took a year of fencing back when he was in college, and the rest of us just have youtube and books to go on. You’d make a much better captain than I would. I mean, if you were interested.” Alfie seemed to habitually blush whenever he spoke, and Castiel found it strangely endearing. 

“I’ll think about it.” He smiled, picking up the burger. 

“Oh!” Alfie perked up instantly. “Well we meet on Wednesdays and Saturdays if you wanted to check it out.” Castiel hummed noncommittally and bit into his burger, his eyes widening as the hum morphed into a groan without his permission. 

Sam laughed. “Ellen makes a hell of a burger, doesn’t she?” he asked, picking up the cake. 

“This is extraordinary!” Castiel gushed, so thrilled he forgot to swallow before speaking. Jo shrugged, as if that hadn’t been the best thing he’d ever put in his mouth. 

“When your mom owns a burger joint you sort of get used to it.” She explained. “If you like ‘em I can have her make you one for Monday.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?” he asked, watching as Sam and Jo traded that same concerned look he had seen Monday night. 

“Well if Gabe’s going to be packing you stuff like this,” she wiggled the little cheesecake at him before stuffing half of it in her mouth, “it seems like a pretty fair trade.” 

Castiel relaxed instantly. Pity was unacceptable, but a trade was perfectly fine. “It does.” He agreed and Jo grinned triumphantly. 

“Hey crackhead!” 

Castiel winced as Raphael charged into view, an obnoxiously pink polo shirt nearly glowing against his dark skin. The students close enough to hear him swivelled to watch the commotion, eyeing Raphael warily. A few of them had a predatory glint in their eye. Like something good was about to happen. 

“Piss off, rich kid.” Jo growled, her pretty face twisting into a snarl instantly. Castiel could imagine hackles raising all along her shoulders as her fingers tightened on the table, inching closer to Sam as if she could hide his bulk with her slim body. Only two of his tag-alongs were with him this time, the little one and the pimply one and they grinned like hyenas as they eyed the little group. 

“Watch your mouth, Harvelle.” Raphael drawled, blatantly letting his eyes trail down her chest. “You be polite and I might give you some of the good stuff.” Jo mimed vomiting into her bag and Raphael laughed. 

“Alfie.” He threw his beefy arm around the skinny boy’s neck. “Good to see you back on your feet after all that commotion last spring. You really should look where you’re going. You’re gonna get yourself hurt one of these days.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Jo was flushed red now, practically glowing with anger as Alfie seemed to shrink down to nothing. 

“I’ll just wait on you for that.” Raphael grinned. “Fucked your way through most of the junior class, haven’t you, Whore-velle? When you’re ready for a real man, give me a call. I might even let you put those pretty lips to use.”

“Shut up, Raphael.” Sam said softly. Castiel could see every tendon in his neck, as though all his energy was being put into keeping himself seated. 

“Since when does the crackhead hang out with these losers?” Raphael demanded, leaning over Sam in what he seemed to think was a threatening posture. Sam didn’t answer, only glared up at Raphael with an oddly sad shine in his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be rotting in juvie with that slut Ruby?” 

Sam blinked hard, his hand twitching on his fork handle. “If I were you I wouldn’t be casting the first stone when it comes to this, Raphael.” He murmured quietly. “I remember seeing you at plenty of Lilith’s parties last year.”

Raphael chuckled nastily. “There’s a difference between having a good night out and being a fucking junkie, Winchester.” He sneered and Sam visibly winced. “I’ve never sucked dick for a hit like that skank.”

“Suggesting you’ve sucked a dick for other reasons?” Castiel asked innocently. 

Everyone froze. Castiel had no idea what had prompted him to speak, and clearly he wasn’t the only one surprised as six sets of wide eyes turned on him. Sam looked outright stunned, his mouth hanging open stupidly. Jo was grinning like a lunatic. Alfie seemed caught between terror and admiration.

“What was that, Android?” Raphael growled, his arms bunching threateningly as he straightened to his full height. 

Castiel had two choices: he could shut his mouth, act as cowed as possible and hope the sharks scented blood elsewhere; or he could accept that he’d already painted a huge target on his head and go for it. One look at Alfie’s face and it was easy to chose option two. 

“I wonder” he mused brushing the crumbs from his shirt front, “if Amelia would be interested to find out that her boyfriend is soliciting sexual favors from other girls. And apparently men as well.” 

“You little shit.” Raphael hissed, reaching for him. Castiel braced himself but before the blow could land someone else joined the fray.

“Problem, gentlemen?” Principle Shurley’s mild voice cut across the impending violence. He materialized at Raphael’s elbow out of nowhere, his pleasant smile edged with steely intent. Raphael deflated slightly, dropping his arms to his sides and flashing a winning smile. 

“Just messing around, Mr. Shurley.” He explained, all mock-innocence. Castiel wondered how anyone could change their whole demeanor so quickly. It was like he’d flicked a switch. Suddenly Raphael appeared to be the most affable, harmless boy anyone could hope to meet, oozing charm from every cuticle. 

“I see.” Said Chuck, looking skeptical. “I think you and your friends had better get to class, Mr. Finnerman. You’ve managed to gather an impressive number of tardy slips in just the first week and I’d like to see you change that.”

“Sure thing.” Raphael nodded, clapping Alfie hard on the shoulder as he turned away. The look he gave Castiel promised future punishment for his bravado, but Castiel found he didn’t particularly care. Something about the terrified gleam in Sam’s eye was pulling at him, drawing any concern away from his own predicament. 

“Sam, are you alright?” he asked softly as Chuck watched the bullies go. 

“Fine.” Sam whispered back. He didn’t look fine. A sheen of sweat had broken across his brow and he was starting to shake. Jo grasped his hand and squeezed, looking equally sick as she stared at the principle. When he was sure Raphael and his friends were gone Chuck turned to look at the four of them. He heaved a sigh, smoothing his tie down and watching Sam cringe. 

“Sam,” he said, his tone heavy with disappointment. “I know it’s difficult but I really can’t have you getting into fights with Raphael Finnerman. I had to pull a dozen strings just to keep you from getting expelled after what happened last year. You need to try and keep a cool head and prove you can change. Alright?”

“Mr. Shurley that ass-“ Jo caught herself mid swear and quickly corrected, “ _jerk_ approached us. Sam didn’t say a freaking word and he was all over him. It’s him that’s trying to start something. Not us.” 

Chuck sighed. “I can’t say that would surprise me but the fact is that Sam is the one with the history of drug use _and_ the one who assaulted Raphael last spring.”

“Because that douche was gonna kill Alfie!” Jo protested. 

Chuck threw up his hands. “I have both sides of the story and I’m afraid I’ve done all I can about that. I will continue to keep an eye on Mr. Finnerman but you’re going to have to look out for each other, alright? Sam?”

Finally Sam looked up, his expression nearly heartbreaking. “I understand.” He murmured. 

“Good.” Chuck patted his shoulder and turned to leave. “And Mr. Novak,” he said, glancing at Castiel, “I would like to take the opportunity to remind you that our student handbook clearly states we have a zero tolerance policy towards fighting on school property. For any reason.”

Castiel nodded, a bit surprised he’d bothered to mention it. “I have no intention of fighting anyone on or off school property, I assure you.” He said. 

“Good.” Chuck smiled. “Let’s keep it that way.” 

As the principle melted back into the mayhem of the cafeteria the four of them traded awkward glances. Now that the excitement was over Jo looked as though she might cry. Alfie didn’t seem to be faring much better, his lip caught between his teeth as he tried desperately to look anywhere but at Sam, who was staring listlessly into his smoothie. 

“Just so we’re clear,” Castiel was surprised to find it was himself who was breaking the awkward silence (it made rather a nice change from causing one), “I in no way have anything against homosexuality. I was merely using his obvious discomfort with the subject against him.” He explained. 

“Oh.” Jo said, eyebrows raising. “Right.”

“Sorry you had to get involved in that.” Muttered Sam, poking at what remained of his salad and avoiding their eyes. “And just so you know I was never on crack.”

Castiel shrugged. “Alright.” 

“And I’m not a whore.” Jo said fiercely. 

“I am almost certainly going to get myself hurt one of these days.” Alfie chipped in, a timid smile blooming. At that they all laughed, the tension bleeding out into the ether. 

“Come on, Castiel.” Jo said, clearing up the remains of her lunch and shoving to her feet. “Let’s get to gym. Maybe we can paint one of the archery targets like that douchebag’s face.” 


	5. There's the Rub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Now edited

Gym turned out to be even more chaotic than the cafeteria. Jo and Castiel met outside the locker rooms and waded through the sea of underclassmen towards the equipment. The teacher - an incredibly elderly man in frighteningly short shorts took roll and then washed his hands of the whole thing. With the somewhat vague instruction: “try not to kill each other” he had gone to sit on the bottom rung of the bleachers and settled down with a weathered paperback. They spent the remainder of the period ducking arrows and trying to figure out how to shoot without snapping the bowstrings into their forearms hard enough to take skin off. It didn’t work very well, but Castiel found that he was enjoying himself anyway. Jo was quick-witted and intelligent, and she didn’t mind his odd silences. When he said something that gave her pause she rolled with it instead of mocking him, and all in all he found her quite easy to talk to. 

“Hey.” Jo said as they were packing up the equipment. They’d volunteered to be the ones to clean up, knowing that it meant they wouldn’t have to do it again for a few weeks at least. The supply closet was dusty and jammed full of outdated sports equipment, racks of sagging basketballs and twisted plastic hurdles stuffed into the poorly lit space. 

“Want to meet after school and head to my place with Sam and Alfie? We were going to start setting up a study night once a week since we’re all in the same classes.”

“But I’m not in any of your other classes.” Castiel pointed out. Truthfully he quite liked the idea of spending more time with them all, but he didn’t see what use he could be in a study group for classes he wasn’t taking. 

Jo laughed. “We don’t actually do much studying.” She explained. “It’s more an excuse to hang out and complain about our teachers and stuff. It’ll only be about studying when finals roll around.”

“Oh.” Castiel brightened. “Then I would like very much to go. Are you sure Sam and Alfie won’t mind?”

“After that line you gave the King of the Dickwads at lunch?” Jo asked incredulously. “Hell, no. They’ll be singing your praises all night!” 

Castiel blushed. “I really shouldn’t have said anything. He’s going to get me for it later, I’m sure.” 

“Eh.” Jo waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “He was going to get you either way. His dick’s too small for him to subscribe to the whole ‘live and let live’ deal. At least this way you got the satisfaction of seeing that look on his stupid face.”

Castiel smiled. “That was fun.” He admitted shyly. He’d rarely stood up to anyone in the past when they pushed him around. 

“I wish I’d taken a picture.” Jo hooted gleefully.  

Castiel still wasn’t quite sure why he’d spoken at all. Past events had taught him well enough that in situations like these it rarely paid to speak up. It was just so much effort for no reward but a further beating. He thought of the man who had stepped in for him on Monday. The one with the green, green eyes. Dean. Maybe Dean had inspired him a bit, made him remember that he could fight back, even if perhaps he shouldn’t. He was sure he hadn’t sounded as confident as Dean had, and he very much doubted that Dean was the least bit concerned about the repercussions of crossing Raphael. But the way Alfie had cringed, and that sorrowful look on Sam’s face…

“Jo,” Castiel asked, stacking the foam targets in the equipment closet, “what was all that about ‘last spring’ and almost killing Alfie?”

Jo looked up sharply, her arms full of plastic arrows. “Oh. Well, it’s Sam’s thing really so I can’t go into too many details, but I guess I can give you the basics.” Castiel nodded and helped her slot the arrows into the large plastic barrel they’d come from as she began the story. 

“Alfie’s always been kind of an easy target for guys like that.” She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I mean, you saw him. He’s just so _nice_. He still looks about twelve years old and he’s quiet as a freaking mouse and he gets all tongue-tied trying to talk to girls. We tried to convince him to pick up a sport freshman year so he might get a little protection from the team or whatever and he picked frigging fencing.” She snorted. “Anyway, you get the idea.”

Castiel definitely got the idea. In some ways he and Alfie were very similar, though he doubted he had ever been so automatically endearing as Alfie was. 

“Well to a guy like Raphael a guy like Alfie is prime bait, especially when you add in the fact that Alfie’s mom’s pretty poor and Raphael thinks money washes out all sins.”

“He should read the Bible more closely.” Castiel murmured, drawing a grin from Jo. 

“When we were freshen Sam’s older brother was a senior so he sort of kept us all under his wing. If anyone, including Raphael, touched a hair on Sam’s head his brother ripped them a new one and all Sam’s friends kind of got included in that bubble. But when he graduated Raphael took it as open season on all of us again. Kind of took over the school with his little group of ass-kissers. He gave Alfie in particular hell all last year. He would follow him into the bathroom and pin him to the wall. He had Rigby - that kid with the bad acne - steal his shoes and piss in them once. They stole his books and shredded his homework. They’d all just wait to find him alone and beat the crap out of him. They never broke anything so he could never get them suspended but he spent most of sophomore year looking like a walking eggplant.”

“I thought there was a zero tolerance policy concerning fighting?” Castiel asked, recalling Chuck’s words. 

Jo shrugged. “Raphael’s buddies always backed him up, said he never touched Alfie. Nobody was ever around to back up Alfie’s side of the story. And then once they got off those bastards would beat Alfie harder for snitching.”

Castiel sighed. “It was very similar at my other schools.” He said, closing the doors to the supply closet and snapping the padlock into place. “The bullies backed up their friends and most of the other students were too scared to cross them. Those that did were often attacked. The administrators either didn’t know or didn’t care.” 

“Yeah. Well. Teenagers are frigging sociopaths.” Jo rubbed the dust from her nose and continued. Castiel wondered if she counted herself in that assessment. “Sam was pretty messed up last year,” she raised her hand as if to block his questions, “His story to tell, not mine,” she insisted and Castiel nodded, understanding. “But when he realized how bad it was getting for Alfie… The kid was missing school, he was sick all the time from the stress. He was starting to fail math - which is totally his thing - it was bad. When Sam realized how bad it was he went after Raphael. He started off trying to talk to him but Raphael threw him some bullshit about choosing his friends better and how he was going to call the cops on Sam, his usual blustery bullshit. And when Sam didn’t back off he said something really bad.” A shadow dropped over her features, pain and pity and anger all fused together. 

“What did he say?” Castiel asked quietly. Jo shook her head to clear it. 

“Not my place.” She repeated. “Anyway, Sam flipped out. Started wailing on Raphael. Sam’s a big kid and he knows how to fight. He and his brother grew up on the road with their dad and he taught them all sorts of crazy survival shit. Raphael didn’t have a chance. Sam had him pinned on the ground with his arm sort of up like this,” she twisted, the back of her hand nearly touching the nape of her neck. It looked extremely uncomfortable. “Raphael was screaming and I don’t think Sam was going to stop.”

“And that’s when Chuck found them.” Castiel guessed. 

“Yeah.” Jo sighed, leaning back against the doors, her arms hugging her chest as if to protect herself from the memory. “It was down near the football field behind the score shed so god knows what Chuck was doing there but he called Sam off. Raphael threatened to press charges and Sam almost got expelled.” 

“Sam was high at the time?” Castiel surmised. Sam didn’t seem like the type of kid to meddle in drugs - at least not like the kids Castiel had met at his previous schools - but if Raphael’s crude jokes on the matter hadn’t made it clear enough Chuck’s mention of Sam’s ‘history of drug use’ would have. 

Jo let her head thunk back against the cinderblock wall. “Yeah.” She exhaled. “He got arrested and almost expelled. I have no idea how he didn’t.”

“And now he’s on best behavior to keep his place here,” Castiel guessed, “with Raphael taking every opportunity to push him into doing something to ruin his chances.”

“Exactly.” Jo nodded. “The other night when Sam told you Raphael wouldn’t mess with him… well, the truth is that fight really scared everyone, Raphael included. We were pretty sure Raphael would steer clear again now that he knows Sam can stomp his ass even harder than his brother did. But I guess it’s gotten around school that Sam’s trying to get back to normal, you know. Raphael knows Sam’s not going to stand up for himself and get kicked out, but he feels guilty about letting Alfie down last year. Sam’s got this thing about saving people. It’s practically the Winchester family motto, like a complex they all have. That’s how he got with that bitch Ruby in the first place.”

“The bitch Ruby is also not your story to tell, I’m guessing?” Castiel asked with a smile. Whoever she was talking about it was clear that Jo would happily punch the girl in the throat and lose no sleep over it. 

“Correct.” Jo grinned, “The point is Raphael is going to keep poking at Alfie to get to Sam.” She looked him in the eye, her grin melting into a sorrowful mask. “I’m afraid it’s going to work. Sam doesn’t… he doesn’t let things like that go. When he feels like he let someone down he keeps hold of it forever.” 

Castiel touched her arm lightly. “Sam is intelligent.” He offered gently. “He has friends who will protect him. And as for Alfie, perhaps we should all stand up for him a little more so that Sam doesn’t take the brunt of the blow.” 

“Better would be if we could help Alfie grow a backbone of his own, but we’ve tried before.” Jo rolled her eyes to show how well that had worked.

Castiel smiled. “I think perhaps Alfie will always be too gentle for his own good.”

“He’s practically a frigging saint.” Jo agreed sourly. 

Castiel nodded. “But that’s not a bad thing.” 

“It is in Lawrence, Kansas.” Jo argued. “Anyway, that’s the whole sordid story, or at least the parts I can tell you. If you want the rest you’d better ask Sam about it yourself. Tread lightly though, it’s still a pretty sore spot.”

“I’ll be as discreet as possible.” Castiel promised.

Jo laughed, though he wasn’t sure what he’d said that was funny. “You talk like someone out of an old movie.” She told him and he blushed again. “It’s kinda cool once you get used to it.” She assured him. She rubbed her bare arms briskly, looking around at the empty gym. “What about you? Why did you move here?” Castiel felt the air clamp down around him. He wasn’t really ready to talk about the circumstances that had driven him to find Gabriel; the wound was still fresh and stinging. But Jo had been so honest with him. It couldn’t have been pleasant for her to relate her fears about Sam. Perhaps he owed her a story in return. 

“I come from a… very strict background.” He said carefully, avoiding her curious brown eyes. “My father does not… he has always been a bit controlling. I didn’t see it when I was younger, but as I grew older I began to realize that he was not the man I thought he was. And I wasn’t the son he thought I was. I left.” He shrugged, wishing he could knock the doubt and anger of that night off his shoulders so simply. “Gabriel’s the only other family I have and when he found out what I had done he took me in.”

Jo looked doubtful. “I know he’s your brother and all but it’s sort of hard to imagine Gabe being that nice. Are you sure he’s not slowly poisoning you with all those cakes or something? Trying out a new radioactive icing for a kick?” Jo asked suspiciously.

Castiel smiled. “He might well be.” He admitted. “He’s always had a rather dark sense of humor. He saved his worst pranks for our older brothers, but he gave me a few of the gentler ones too. When I was seven he tried to convince me there was a door to heaven inside an old beech tree that grew in our yard. He said that if I crawled up there and prayed for an hour straight it would open and I would get to visit the angel Joshua. Of course I tried it in the middle of the night in November because I was sure my father would be asleep then and not make me come down. By the time Gabriel came and got me I had frostbite on my fingers and was nearly hypothermic.”

“Oh yeah.” Jo scoffed. “That sounds like Gabriel being gentle. He’s a real card like that.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side, remembering the hollow feeling of devastation that had crashed into him that night. “He took me in and warmed me up, explained that it had been a joke. I was heartbroken, of course. He didn’t realize I though that Joshua would let me speak to our mother. I’d been counting on it. She died when I was very small.”

“I’m sorry.” Jo said quietly. 

Castiel shook his head with a smile. “When I asked him why he’d done it he told me that he wanted me to believe in miracles. That was a few weeks before he left.”

“Oh.” Jo seemed unsure how to respond.

“Of course now that I’m older Gabriel seems to have no reservations about involving me in his nastier pranks. His ‘headliners’, as he calls them. A month ago I discovered a bit too late that he’d replaced the brand new deodorant in my stick with cream cheese. That was a very unpleasant sensation.”

Jo laughed. “Well. That was a nice little secret-sharing session, wasn’t it? I’m going to go get out of these stupid shorts and try to make it to class on time. Meet you in the lobby by the soda machine after?”

Castiel nodded. “I’ll be there.” He agreed. 

 

****

 

Castiel’s last class let out early and he found himself waiting anxiously by the soda machines well before any of the other students began streaming out towards the parking lot. He was oddly excited at the prospect of spending the afternoon with his new… friends? Did he have friends? He wasn’t sure. Acquaintances, certainly. He’d have liked to ask them if they were his friends now, but he remembered the few occasions where he’d done just that and been greeted with mystification and outright disgust. He would have to keep quiet and hope to pick up clues. 

At any rate he was excited. Instead of the dull pain in his head and vague sense of floating that usually overcame him during a day surrounded by people, he felt very centered, grounded in his own shoes. He found he had liked talking with Jo, even if the subject matter had been a bit prickly. He liked laughing with Alfie and watching Sam talk. It was not a novel experience, but one he rarely got to enjoy for more than a week or two before people realized his personality didn’t change much on closer acquaintance. 

Alfie was the first to arrive, stumbling out of the crowd as students shoved towards the doors. Castiel put a hand on his shoulder to steady him and Alfie grinned his thanks. 

“Jo said she was going to ask you to come.” Alfie panted, trying to catch his breath. He produced an inhaler from his pocket and took a puff. “I’m glad you said yes.”

Castiel felt a little swell of pride. “I’m glad to have been asked.” He replied. This sounded very much like friendship, he thought. 

“Sam’s older brother will be working so we might have to pretend to have books out and stuff, but he’s pretty cool.” 

“His brother works for Jo’s mother?” Castiel leaned against the wall, hitching his bag around to the side so it didn’t dig into his back. 

“Well, he works a couple jobs now.” Alfie explained, sliding onto the bench that ran along the wall and dropping his backpack. The zipper was slightly broken, held together with safety pins in some places and Castiel could see at least four textbooks. It was stuffed to the brim and must have weighed eighty pounds with all those books in it.

“Why are you carrying all those?” Castiel asked, surprised. “It can’t be good for your back. Surely we won’t need all those if this isn’t a real study session?”

Alfie blushed. “I uh, I can’t leave them in my locker.”

“Why not?” 

“Raphael and those guys know where my locker is.” He explained softly. “If I leave my stuff in it they break in and trash it. Textbooks are expensive to replace.” 

Castiel scowled. “And anyone who couldn’t afford to replace them is worthy of the gesture.” He growled. “What an ass.”

Alfie nodded, his tone oddly chipper. “Yep. An ass that will kick ours pretty damn hard every chance he gets. So, I carry my books and keep one eye behind me at all times.” 

“Hey!” They looked up to find Jo waving from near the door, jumping to be seen above the crowd. Sam was with her, still looking a bit beaten down from lunch. 

Castiel waved back and offered Alfie a hand up. “Here,” he said, trading backpacks. Alfie shouldered his much lighter back looking confused. 

“If I’m going to take fencing back up I need to build up a bit more muscle.” Castiel explained, elated when Alfie gave a surprised whoop of laughter. 

They squeezed joined the herd filing out into the sunshine and met Sam and Jo, though they didn’t have room to actually speak until they were out in the air. 

“Castiel’s going to join the fencing club!” Alfie gasped as they spilled out. 

“Awesome.” Sam smiled, clapping Alfie’s shoulder. “Should teach you a thing or two.” 

“Come on, this way.” Jo said, snatching Castiel’s wrist and dragging him towards the street. “I didn’t drive today so it’s a walk.” 

They slipped out the front gate and headed towards the river, Jo and Alfie arguing about something that had happened in their history class earlier. Sam was very quiet. Castiel fell into step beside him, letting Jo and Alfie get ahead of them. 

“Jo told me a bit about what happened to Alfie last year.” He said, watching as Sam’s eyes flicked nervously towards him. 

“Oh?” he swallowed, looking back down. 

Castiel nodded. “She told me how Raphael tortured him.” Sam winced. “And that you blame yourself for not protecting him.”

Sam slowed further, staring at the glittering stream of Jo’s hair as she strode along ahead. “What else did she say?”

“I didn’t ask,” Castiel said carefully, “but she still made it clear that if I want to know about what you experienced last year I would have to ask you. Though I admit I had gathered the bit about the drugs myself.”

Sam glanced at him, then sighed. “Yeah. I was… I was pretty messed up.”

Castiel smiled, hoping it wasn’t an inappropriate gesture. “I just wanted to let you know that whatever you did, I don’t think you should take so much responsibility for Raphael’s actions. We all make mistakes but you did not chose to hurt someone weaker than yourself for sport.”

Sam sighed. “But I didn’t protect my friends from the asshole that did.”

Castiel shrugged. “Maybe not immediately but eventually. And now they’re counting on you not to rise to his bait.”

Sam scowled, kicking at the leaves lining the storm gutter. “Easier said than done.” He grumbled. 

“Yes, it is.” Castiel agreed. “But you have friends to help you with that. I’d like to be one of them” 

Sam looked at him again and Castiel looked placidly back. It was a risk, saying it out loud like that. He knew that wasn’t really how these things were done. He’d certainly not given the best of impressions that first night, and Sam must have by now realized what Castiel was likely to be like as a friend. 

Sam cracked a smile, one big hand coming to rest on Castiel’s shoulder. “Thanks, man.” 

“You’re welcome.” Castiel replied, grateful that the offer had been taken as he had intended it. 

So he had a friend. Possibly more than one. 

They kept walking and as they passed Sam started pointing out the different shops and restaurants, becoming more and more animated the further they got from school. Castiel learned that there was a drug store that still sold penny candy a few streets over, and a bar that hosted karaoke on weekends. 

“They let you in without a fake ID and everything”! Jo explained excitedly. “They just mark your hands so the bartender doesn’t serve you.” 

They passed the little bookshop where Castiel worked and then Reynard, which was bustling as usual. Castiel could just make out Gabriel behind the counter extolling the virtues of one of his latest creations to a poor, pretty girl who seemed quite overwhelmed by his attention. Gabe was clearly in top form; charming, witty, and an absolute terror. He’d had that same look two weeks ago when he’d asked Castiel to test his new candied apples. Castiel had bitten into a caramel covered onion and nearly vomited. 

Castiel rolled his eyes and hurried past, glad his brother hadn’t noticed them. 

“Don’t you want to stop in and say hi?” Jo teased, shoving back against Castiel’s guiding hand. “Maybe he has more lunch you could share.”

“I’ll be quite happy to bring you what he calls lunch on Monday if you keep moving.” Castiel growled. “I’d rather not have to deal with my brother in high spirits right now.”

“What happened to ‘he’s always been very kind to me’?” Sam asked, grinning. 

“Gabriel’s idea of kind does not exactly match the rest of the world’s. I’d rather not explore that any more than I have to just now.” 

They all laughed and kept moving. Jo’s mother’s bar - the Roadhouse, she called it - was just a few streets away, and by the time they made it there Castiel’s shoulders were starting to ache under the weight of Alfie’s bag. Jo led them inside and straight to one of the booths at the back, where Castiel immediately slid to a seat. Alfie glanced at him guiltily but Castiel smiled. 

“I’ve lost more muscle than I realized.” He said as Jo and Alfie slid into the other side of the booth, leaving Sam to take his spot beside Castiel. 

“Well those are a good workout, I guess.” Alfie smiled. 

“I’ll go get us some drinks. Diet for Sam, root beer for Alfie, Castiel?” 

“If there is unsweetened iced tea I would like that.” Castiel asked, rubbing at his jaw. “Living with Gabriel has begun to make me despise sugar.”

They shared a laugh and Jo trotted off toward the long bar. 

“So what kind of equipment do you need for fencing?” Sam asked, shucking his coat. He seemed far more relaxed here than at school, draping his long arm across the back of the booth and letting one leg jut out into the room. In a matter of minutes he was sprawled like a cat in a sunbeam, contentment written large over his whole being. 

“You like it here.” Castiel observed, catching a grin from Sam. 

“My brother and I kind of grew up here.” He explained, gesturing around at the drab walls and their assortment of old movie posters. There was a shabby announcement of “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” hanging above their table and Castiel tried to remember if he’d ever seen that. It seemed unlikely. 

“Our dad travelled a lot,” Sam continued, “and when he couldn’t take us with him he’d drop us off with Bobby or Ellen - that’s Jo’s mom.”

“Is Bobby her father?” 

Alfie snickered and blushed hard and Sam chuckled. “No, her father died when we were kids. But Bobby’s probably going to be her step-father eventually, if he ever gets his butt in gear.”

“Are you two talking about my mother’s love life again?” Jo demanded, appearing with four drinks balanced precariously between her slender fingers. Castiel quickly took his and she dropped into her seat with a bounce. “It’s like frigging Cosmo with these two sometimes.” She told Castiel. 

“What is a Cosmo?” he asked, sipping his tea. There was a large wedge of lemon bumping his lip and he was glad to see no sugar bowl on the table.  

“It’s a magazine where Sammy gets all his pro hair tips, dontcha, Sammy?” said a new voice.

Castiel looked up to see that their server had appeared, a black t-shirt and white apron the only change from the last time Castiel saw him. Green, green eyes landed on him and before he’d given them permission the words bubbled up out of his chest. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

 

 


	6. Mother Hen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in updating. My very new computer decided to crap out on me so I had to haul out this old dinosaur to get anything done. Hopefully my new girl will be up and at 'em in no time and I can update more frequently but until then, bear with. Formatting was a real pain on this thing so apologies if it looks a bit screwy.

It was like a bell ringing inside his head, echoing off the bones of his skull, those two words.

“Hello, Dean.” That gravel and wood smoke voice seemed to wrap around his head, smothering the ability to talk or even think for a full second.

What the hell?

He peered at the scrawny kid hunched in Sam’s shadow, recognizing his shock of black hair and sober expression.

“Hey. Castiel, isn’t it?” How was he supposed to forget a name like that?

“You two know each other?” Sam asked, his eyes widening as he glanced back and forth between them.

“We met, yeah.” Dean smirked, wondering if the kid would rather keep his little scrap with the reigning douchebag on the down low.

Castiel nodded, not breaking eye contact with Dean even thought he spoke to Sam. “Dean happened upon me just after I first met Raphael. If he hadn’t intervened I doubt I would have walked away quite so peacefully.”

So not keeping it quiet, then. Dean shrugged. “Eh, you looked like you were holding your own.” He offered.

Castiel tilted his head to one side, like puppy who heard a whistle. “You said that then, too. I don’t understand. It was clear I was outnumbered.”

Dean glanced at Sam, who shrugged and smiled. Alrighty then. “I was just uhh…anyway. You all have a good first week?”

“I’m glad it’s over.” Jo sighed, slumping down so her chin rested on her chest.

“That bad, hu?” Dean sympathized. “Well, you made it to Friday. We celebrating with burgers?” He lifted his notepad expectantly.

“ _Veggie_ burger.” Sam corrected and Dean felt something in his heart cry out in agony.

“Oh, Sammy.” He clutched dramatically at his chest, leaning heavily on the table.

“Are you alright?” Dean looked up to find Castiel leaning forward, concern shining in his blue, blue eyes.

“He’s fine.” Sam said blandly, clearly unimpressed. “He’s just being a dick.”

“My own brother.” Dean lamented woefully. “In the home of the greatest bacon cheeseburger known to man. And he orders… a veggie burger.” He dropped his face into his hands in mock despair.

“You’re such a drama queen.” Jo sighed, sipping her soda.

“Not all of us live on bacon grease and beef, Dean.” Sam muttered in his lecturing voice. “Some of us prefer actual nutrition from time to time.”

“Beef is full of vitamins!” Dean protested. “And there’s lettuce and shit on there. That’s, whatever, fiber and stuff.”

“For the last time, ketchup is not a vegetable.” Sam shook his head, struggling not to smile. “It’s a wonder we’re even related.”

“Sure it is.” Dean argued. “It’ll make you grow big and strong!”

“Like you?” Sam asked innocently.

“Shut up, Sasquatch. I’m plenty big and plenty strong. Not all of us can be freaks of nature.”

“You probably stunted your growth by only eating pie and pork fat for the last twenty years.” Dean grinned so widely he nearly split his ears. They’d had the same argument a hundred times growing up but the truth was Dean was freaking thrilled to be having it again. Over the past few months there had been darker things to fight about, heavy things that dragged at Sam’s shoulders and crushed Dean’s words in his throat. Refusing to admit the virtues of Sammy’s rabbit food was like turning back the clock.

Castiel placed his hand on Sam’s arm where it lay on the table, smiling serenely. “I see now, why you speak the way you do about him.” he murmured gently. Sam blushed, refusing to look anywhere but at his own fingers. That didn’t seem to stop Castiel. “He loves you very much, too.”

Dean blinked. Was this kid serious? Jo snickered into her soda at his expression. Castiel blushed a bit but didn’t look away like most people would. He just stared. Hu.

“Yeah, uh…” Dean said intelligently. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? “So, a veggie burger?”

“Fries for me.” Alfie piped up, looking about two seconds short of puking. He usually looked like that though so Dean didn’t give it a second thought.

“Make that two orders.” Jo agreed, looking downright gleeful.

“Right. Two orders of fries, a veggie burger? And what?” Dean jotted it down, shaking off the kid’s weird remark.

“I would very much like to try the bacon cheeseburger.”

Dean beamed. Weird or not, the kid had taste. “Awesome. See, Sam? Cas knows what’s what.”

The kid blinked, going perfectly still. “Cas?” he murmured, doing that head-tilt thing again.

“Right back, guys.” Dean smiled, ducking back towards the kitchen. Man, that kid sure had some baby-fricken-blues. And he didn’t seem to know how to blink so it’s not like he gave you a break with them, either.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder to see Sam gesticulating wildly, a big goofy grin on his big goofy face as he explained something to Cas. Cas listened attentively, his expression painfully serious. Judging by Cas’s face you’d think Sam was explaining the death penalty in Texas, but going by Sam’s wide-swinging elbows and Jo’s disinterest he was telling lacrosse stories again.

As he pushed through the kitchen door Dean stomped on the bizarrely fatherly urge to take this Castiel kid aside and demand to know his intentions, like Sam was his teenage daughter heading out on her first date. Although thinking about it, it wasn’t that bizarre. He’d practically raised Sam (not to mention Sam’s stupidly girly hair excusing the whole daughter part). He’d been around more than their dad, anyway. John was always on the road. Looking for work, then looking for booze. Then just looking. Dean wondered if he even knew what for anymore.

And besides, Sam was just getting his feet wet again in the whole friends department. Dean couldn’t help but see every new person in his life as a potential threat, thanks to Ruby. Cas seemed ok. A bit serious, way too literal, clearly, but alright. He was on the wrong side of Raphael and that was points in his favor for sure. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’, and all that crap. He was about a million miles from Ruby, that was for damn sure. Where she was crass this kid was quiet, where she was all lewd gropes and licked lips he was gentle smiles and solemn pats. Leather and lace versus milk and toast. He looked pretty straight-laced too in his plain white button up and fifties-styled hair. Like a Cary Grant impersonator or something. He certainly didn’t seem like the druggy type, not by a long shot. Then again, Dean thought, neither had Sam.

“Jesus, Winchester,” he muttered to himself, jamming the ticket on Ellen’s old-fashioned order wheel, “the kid made _one_ friend. Calm the hell down.”

“Talking to yourself again, Dean?” Ellen asked from her position over the grill.

“Just telling me how awesome I am.” He quipped, flashing her a grin. She rolled her eyes.

He darted back out to the bar where he could eavesdrop a little without being embarrassingly obvious about it. A couple of regulars were already melted to their stools and he refreshed their beers before starting to aimlessly polish the bar down towards the end. Ok, so maybe he _was_ being embarrassingly obvious but who cared? Sam knew he was entitled to worry a little, and it wasn’t like he wasn’t supposed to be out here keeping an eye out for new customers.

“So he saved your bacon, hu?” Jo was saying, the back of her blond head bobbing over the edge of the seat. From here Dean had a pretty good view of Sam and Castiel’s side, and he could see the shorter kid’s face scrunch up in confusion.

“My bacon?” he asked.

“It’s an expression.” Sam explained with an easy smile. Dean shook his head. It was like the kid had never heard people speak English before. “It means he helped you at the right time.”

“Oh. Yes.” Cas nodded. “Despite what Dean says I would definitely have been… how did you put it, Jo? A walking eggplant?”

They all shared a laugh. Alfie’s voice came next, a timid little strain of a noise as usual. “He can be pretty scary.”

“Yeah but don’t let that fool you.” Sam said quickly. “All that tough guy shit is just to cover up the fact that he’s a nice guy underneath. He’s nothing to be scared of, really.”

Dean grimaced, somewhere between annoyed and flattered. He could be both, a tough guy and a nice guy, right? He was versatile. Castiel did that weird head-tilt thing again – it was like his head was on a hinge – staring at Sam with a worried pinch to his eyes.

“I’m not afraid of Dean.” He said gravely. “Why would you think I was?”

“ _I_ am.” Said Alfie. “Wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

That didn’t surprise Dean too much. Alfie was scared of a stiff breeze and his own shadow.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Alfie,” sighed an exasperated Jo, “he’s a teddy bear.”

“To cute girls like you, sure.” Alfie argued and Dean smothered a grin. Jo was pretty cute these days. While he wasn’t looking she’d turned from a gawky tween into a sassy young woman. Just the type Dean would have hit on when he was her age. And Alfie had definitely been noticing the change. Every time she wasn’t looking the kid’s eyes were practically glued to her. Dean wondered if the poor nerd would ever have the balls to do something about it. Probably not, knowing Alfie. Shame.

Sam gracefully changed the subject. “So how long have you been living in Lawrence?” he asked Cas.

“I arrived last May.” Castiel answered, looking down into his cup. He had really long eyelashes, Dean noticed, then felt weird for noticing.

“Oh. You moved before school was out?” Jo asked, surprise evident in her voice.

Cas practically squirmed and Dean sensed a story coming on. “I was… there was a family issue.” He explained quietly. “I left quite suddenly. Luckily my brother was able to help me convince my last school to let me take my final exams with a proctor at the university so I could move on to senior year.”

“Oh.” Jo said. “That was nice of them to allow.”

Cas nodded. He was starting to look a little green around the gills and Dean wondered what could have possibly happened that was this uncomfortable for the kid to talk about. Maybe he and Sam had more in common than he’d realized? He was definitely acting like he had a shifty past.

“And Gabe’s got a spare room?” Sam asked, polite as ever and not prodding for the details like Dean would have.

Gabe? As in Gabriel Novak? This neat-as-a-pin kid was staying with that candy-guzzling, skank-banging, loudmouth baker? Why on earth would he… Dean glanced over, overlaying Cas’s face with Gabriel’s in his mind. Well they _could_ be related. Possibly. Cas was taller, obviously, and slimmer. His nose was straighter and his lips were fuller, his jaw more round and he was overall less pointy. But something about the forehead, maybe? Cas had definitely looked familiar on Monday. But brothers? Of course Dean and Sammy didn’t look all that alike at first, so there was no going by looks sometimes. Gabriel didn’t talk much about his family, but Dean would have guessed from his stories he wasn’t on speaking terms with any of them. Now that he thought about it Gabe had mentioned a few times – when he was drunk as a skunk and caught between ranting and crying – that he had left behind a little brother. This kid was _way_ younger though. At least eight years.

Dean wasn’t sure if the possibility of being Gabe’s family made him more or less worried about this kid hanging around Sam. From what little Gabe had said they sounded like complete assholes, and not in the fun way like Gabe.

“Yes.” Castiel smiled gratefully at the change of subject. He had really white teeth. “He called it his ‘office’ before, but it was full of comic books and inappropriate magazines. I suppose the desk was what qualified it as a workspace in his mind.”

That sounded like Gabe.

Sam chuckled. “Where did you live before?”

“Many places.” That was a deflection if Dean had ever heard one. “Most recently Connecticut.”

“And you went to private schools?” Alfie asked. Dean wondered if he were guessing. Seemed like a fair guess, with Cas.

“Mostly religious institutions. My father-” he stumbled, sounding for a second like he had something in his throat. Dean glanced up to see Cas’s eyes had hardened to steel, his jaw set. Woah. This might be a bit of a Clark Kent situation. Mild-mannered and calm on the outside, secretly BAMF underneath. Interesting.

“My father,” he continued, stronger, “was an advisor to the church and often assessed schools on their curriculum and dedication to the faith.”

“He was a priest?” Jo asked.

Castiel shook his head. “A theologian and an administrator. He has a masters in both Theology and Education.”

Sam whistled quietly. “So smart runs in the family, hu?” Dean tried not to be hurt at the envious tinge in Sam’s tone. He knew Sammy was the brains in their family, far and away. Maybe their mom could have given him a run for his money but since that was a moot point…

“My father is a very intelligent man.” Castiel said. Something in the way he said it made Dean think it might not be the compliment it should be.

“So you moved around with his work?” Sam guessed. It was definitely a concept he and Dean were familiar with, Dean thought ruefully. John had dragged them through at least thirty states over the years, rarely staying a whole school year in one place.

“Yes. It was easiest if I attended the schools at which he worked, so that I could offer feedback.” Dean wondered exactly whom it was easier for. It didn’t sound like Cas meant himself. Poor kid. No wonder he was so uptight. A super religious father dragging him to work his whole life couldn’t have been easy on a little kid.

Ellen’s bell rang from the kitchen and Dean hustled in to pick up their order. Alright, so the kid sounded ok so far. Dean was definitely worried about whatever he was avoiding talking about, and if he was Gabe’s little brother there was a whole list of shit Dean wouldn’t put past him, but he sounded like he’d had it rough himself and was bouncing back. That could be good for Sammy, right? A little empathy? A little inspiration? A little commiseration when the going got tough? Dean didn’t doubt the going could still get tough any time now, no matter how things were looking up.

“Get your head in the game, boy.” Ellen shouted as he nearly dropped a basket of fries. He shrugged apologetically and pushed out into the bar. He balanced a tray on each arm, wishing Ellen would spring for the big ones so he could just haul one. By the time he got back to the table Sam was explaining that they had never lived in Connecticut.

“Too rich for our blood, hu, Sammy?” he chipped in, setting one tray down and scooting it onto the table with his hip. He tried not to notice the way Castiel’s eyes snapped back to his face, or the fact that he couldn’t read anything in his expression.

“Yeah. We were more about shitty motels and sublet apartments than real estate in Greenwich.” Sam laughed. Dean was proud that Sam didn’t sound even the teensiest bit bitter. He had been, for a long time. But Sammy was learning to let that shit go now. And he was doing a damn good job of it.

“Magic fingers, all the way.” Dean said, offering his hand for a high-five. Sam rolled his eyes but obliged, slapping palms over his veggie burger.

“What are magic fingers?” Castiel asked as Dean finished unloading his trays.

“Coin-operated massage bed.” Dean explained with a wink. “Only the classiest joints have them.”

“Right.” Sam nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Just like the classiest joints only rent by the hour.”

Dean grinned. Cas glanced back and forth between them, his expression clearly showing that he didn’t understand. Sheltered Catholic school kid for sure.

Dean was just about to ask Jo how try-outs went when a straight-up pornographic moan split the air. He jumped, startled to realize it had come from Castiel. He’d bitten into his burger, and was looking at it like he might see the face of God hiding in the ground beef.

“Good, right?” Dean twittered nervously as he took another huge bite. Cas needed to get a lid on the porno noises. It was broad fricken daylight.

Sam was laughing hysterically, pointing at Dean’s face as he wheezed, “he sounds like you eating pie!”

Jo laughed and Alfie blushed so hard Dean was surprised he didn’t burst into flames.

“He sounds like someone’s eating _something_.” Dean joked. “Reign it in, kid. This is a family place.”

Castiel either didn’t hear him or didn’t care, and continued to moan his way through his bacon cheeseburger.

After that Dean didn’t have much time to eavesdrop. The dinner rush started early at the Roadhouse, all the grizzled old geezers of Lawrence forming the first wave around four-thirty to be pushed out by the nine-to-fives around seven, until the college kids took over by ten. Sam and his friends disappeared at some point but Dean got a text saying they were only going to Jo’s house to watch a movie and not to worry.

By the end of the night his feet were aching and he’d wrenched his shoulder trying to catch a tray of glasses before they fell – nailed it, but it had hurt like a bitch.

As he closed up the register Ellen emerged from the kitchen, her hair all frizzed out from the heat of the grill. It was just after two and Paige and Claire had gone home already, leaving just the two of them to shut the place down.

“How was the take, tonight?” she asked, sinking onto a stool and removing her grease-spotted apron.

“Best this week.” Dean said, sliding her the bank bag. She glanced inside and nodded, zipping it back up and handing it back. “Hey, has Jo mentioned this Castiel guy to you?”

Ellen nodded, her glance saying she knew exactly where this conversation was going. “She said they met at Reynard’s. That he was Gabe’s brother and seemed like a real sweet kid.”

“So she approves of him so far?” Dean felt himself blush guiltily but he couldn’t help it.

Ellen fixed him with a look. “Dean. Sam is going to hang out with whomever he wants, whether you approve or not. Didn’t you learn that lesson the hard way?”

Dean flinched. “I know.” He sighed, leaning his elbows on the bar. “I just want to know if Jo thinks she can trust him. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

Ellen scoffed.

“Most of the time.” Dean conceded. “She told me the first night we met Ruby that she was a raging bitch and Sam would be better off dropping her ass ASAP.”

“Yeah, well.” Ellen shrugged. “Her bitch radar is pretty spot on. Gets that from me. But yeah, Dean. She likes him so far. And he’s Gabe’s little brother so I’m sure you’ll get an earful if they get up to any trouble.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like I pictured Gabe’s family.” Dean smiled.

“What did you picture?”

“I dunno.” Dean shrugged. “A bunch of high-class dicks dressed like Gordon Gecko shouting in legalese and driving porches. Not a skinny high school kid, that’s for sure.”

“Jo said he was only a kid when Gabriel left.” Ellen sighed sadly. “Must have been rough on the both of them to be separated.”

Dean swallowed, trying to imagine leaving Sammy behind to get away from John. His mind reared back from even the thought. “Yeah.” He croaked.

Ellen patted his hand and smiled. “I’ll check the dumpster. Jo took the car so you get to give me a ride home. Lock up, yeah?”

“Sure.” Dean nodded. It was only a short drive to Ellen’s house, and he could pick up Sammy there.

“How’d you do in tips?”

“Alright.” He shrugged. “That asshole Potts stiffed me again.”

“Miserable old tightwad.” Ellen muttered. The old grouch was a regular but there was no love lost between him and any of the Roadhouse staff. Ellen had been toying with the idea of banning him for years. He’d never done anything to warrant that measure, though, and she’d said a hundred times or more that once you started banning assholes you ran out of customers real quick.

She stood and stretched, her back cracking a half dozen times before she headed out the back. Dean shut off the lights, locked up the cash in the safe and headed out. His baby was waiting in the far corner of the parking lot, gleaming prettily in the blue security light. The ’67 Impala had been his Dad’s for years, until one day John had just given it to him. Dean still couldn’t have said why. John wasn’t really a giving man, and he’d spent Dean’s whole life lecturing him about this car, how to properly care for it. Dean had nearly swallowed his tongue when John handed him the keys.

And he had taken care of her. Gave her a tune up every month, cleaned her inside and out as often as he could, kept her purring like the great big kitten she was. Even after the crash he had done almost the whole rebuild himself, only letting Bobby take care of some of the electrical for him. Looking at her now you wouldn’t ever know the state she’d been in four months ago.

Ellen was leaning on the passenger side door, smothering a yawn in the crook of her elbow. “Get a move on, Winchester. I want to get to bed before three.”

“Just admiring my handiwork.” He said, jogging over to unlock the car. He slid onto the leather bench seat, grinning as it squeaked against his jeans.

“You and this car need to get a room.” Ellen griped, sliding in beside him and slamming her door hard.

“Easy on the car!” he objected. “It’s not her fault you’re tired!”

“Get me home, loverboy.” Ellen ordered, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

Dean cranked the radio in revenge and ignored Ellen’s glare. In a couple minutes they pulled up outside the little brick row house where she and Jo lived and they hopped out, Dean just leaning on the door to wait for Sam.

“See you tomorrow, Winchester.” Ellen called, tossing a wave over her shoulder as she climbed up the porch.

As he waited in the silence of her quiet street Dean shivered and wondered if he should start bringing a jacket for closing shifts. September was only a couple days away but it was already getting freaking cold at night.

He was trying to guess how long it would be before the trees started dropping leaves when Ellen’s door creaked again and he looked up to see Sam and Castiel hugging Jo goodbye. Cas looked like he wasn’t quite sure how to hug properly, all pointy elbows and stiff hands.

“I said we’d give Castiel a ride home.” Sam explained, jogging down to the curb.

“Sure.” Dean shrugged. “Reynard’s?” Castiel looked up at him, startled. “Ellen mentioned you’re Gabe’s brother. It’s not too far out of our way. Hop in.”

He slid back into the driver’s seat, waiting as Sam climbed into the front and Cas took the back for himself.

“Thank you.” Cas murmured, tugging his seat belt into place. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“No trouble.” Dean shook his head, grinning. “Might be able to steal something good while I’m there. Gabe usually gives me day old pies when he’s feeling generous.”

“Gabriel is usually feeling generous.” Cas said with a nod. “It is surprising he does so well in business when he so enjoys giving food away.”

Dean shared a skeptical look with Sam, who was holding in a disbelieving laugh. “ _Gabe_ is generous?” Dean scoffed.

“Yes, very.” Cas said as if he didn’t hear the note of doubt in Dean’s voice. “I helped him take twelve dozen cookies to the local homeless shelter last weekend, and the weekend before that he donated ten cakes to the elementary school bake sale.”

Sam couldn’t contain his laughter any more, it seemed. “Stop spitting on my upholstery.” Dean hissed, smacking his brother’s shoulder.

“Why is that funny?” Cas asked. He didn’t sound offended, just curious.

“Uh, well.” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Gabe isn’t… well he’s kind of an asshole.” Great, Winchester. Tell the kid his brother’s a dick.

“He means that Gabe doesn’t usually make a big effort to seem like a nice guy.” Sam explained.

Castiel shrugged. “He has always been modest about his charity. It’s the one thing he seems to have kept hold of from our childhood.”

Dean glanced in the mirror, unable to read Cas’s expression again. It was weird, like the minute certain things crossed his mind he just wiped his face totally blank. Like a robot shutting down or something.

They made it to Reynard’s without further conversation. As they pulled up on the curb Gabe popped out of his apartment door, a silky green robe and fluffy pink bunny slippers barely saving his dignity.

“Cassie!” he crowed, throwing a hug around his younger brother’s shoulders as he climbed out of the car. “Never thought I’d see the day! Out past nine PM and on a Friday night, no less. I’m so damn proud I could bust.”

He leaned forward and sniffed ostentatiously, a frown souring his expression. “You’re not drunk!” he said it like an accusation. Dean bit down on a snicker.

“I’m seventeen years old.” Castiel reminded him sternly.

“Exactly!” Gabe cried, throwing his hands up in despair. He leaned down to peer accusingly at Dean. “You couldn’t even slip the kid one beer, Winchester?”

“And have Ellen put my nuts in a vice for serving a minor in her bar? No dice, Novak.” Dean grinned.

“Well next time feel free to corrupt him a little. Just a little, though. No back rooms in brothels or anything.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Dean promised, tossing Cas a wink for the hell of it. He wasn’t expecting the kid to blush to the tips of his ears. “Got any leftovers?”

“Come in and _pay_ for something sometime.” Gabe shot back, herding Cas towards the door.

“Yeah, real generous.” Dean called after them. Cas blushed all over again.

“See you on Monday, Castiel!” Sam waved, getting a tiny wave in return before Gabe slammed the door behind them.

“I like him.” Dean decided aloud, grinning when Sam raised his eyebrows. “He enjoys a good burger and he’s another gateway to free pie.”


	7. Not Our Father

Castiel collapsed backwards onto his mattress, his tired eyes tracing the dips in the old popcorn ceiling as he thought back over the day. He wouldn’t have said twenty-four hours ago that he’d have ended the night watching ridiculous science-fiction movies in Jo Harvelle’s basement with Sam and Alfie but that was what had happened. And stranger still he had enjoyed it very much. He hadn’t followed the movies very well but he’d enjoyed watching the others watch them, smiling when they laughed and holding his breath when they whooped and hollered at the hero’s victories. He’d drunk several sodas and eaten some spicy chips Jo had given him and Alfie to try. Poor Alfie had nearly choked to death after accidentally inhaling some of the fiery powder and then drunk three sodas in quick succession to try and calm his burning tongue.

It had been an utterly normal and fantastic night.

And to end it he had ridden home in Dean’s car. Dean, with his easy smile and sparkling green eyes. Dean with the worry he tried very hard to hide from Sam. He’d played the easy-going bartender but all night Castiel had watched him out of the corner of his eye. Dean was barely ever far enough away to be out of earshot, and when he was he kept glancing over as if worried Sam might dissolve before his eyes. Sam had seen it too, Castiel knew. He’d spent the first portion of the night watching the brothers tiptoe delicately around each other, only making eye contact when they launched into their bantering snippets of conversation. It was a dance, carefully choreographed over the last few decades to allow them a safe space to fall back into when the ground between them shifted.

Castiel wondered what it must feel like to have that with a sibling. Of course he had Gabriel and his version of teasing sibling camaraderie. But Castiel knew that he and Gabriel were two poles of a magnet. Sam and Dean were two halves of the same person. Even a near stranger like him could see it.

And he’d certainly felt like a stranger when Dean’s gaze landed on him at the table. He was a different man than the one Castiel had met on Monday. When Dean had smiled at Castiel that afternoon outside the school it had been with a gentle laugh and a word of encouragement. When Dean smiled at Castiel today it was a fragile veneer, an excuse to bear his teeth at the boy who sat too close to his brother. He could feel Dean’s urge to throw a shielding arm around Sam’s shoulder and haul him away in the tight corners of his eyes, and he found himself refusing to flinch. He was glad Sam had this. Sam deserved it. And Castiel wouldn’t hesitate to show that he too wanted to protect the boy who had agreed to be his first friend in as long as Cas could remember.

Cas.

No one had ever called him that before. Gabriel called him Cassie sometimes, when he wanted to annoy him. But after only a half dozen sentences Dean had truncated his cumbersome moniker to something warm and familiar and fond. It lit a tiny flame in his belly, glowing so pleasantly and tingling all the way out to his fingertips.

A tap at his door drew his head up from where it had sunk into his pillow. Gabriel poked his head in, flicking the light on and off a few times.

“Hiyo, kid.” He said, stepping into the little room. “So you’re gonna be hanging out with Sam Winchester, hu?”

Castiel sat up, squinting at him. Gabe was fishing. He had that look, his eyes darting everywhere but Castiel’s face. “Yes, as much as he allows. And I’ve already been informed of the events of his last year and what he is doing to remedy his mistakes.” Castiel was surprised at the note of steel in his own voice as his fists balled on the comforter beside him. Judging by his expression so was Gabriel. Of course he wasn’t entirely aware of the exact details of all that had happened, but he knew the basics. He hadn’t thought Jo’s basement a proper place to bring up the subject, especially after the incident at lunch. But he knew Sam had been using drugs, had had a toxic relationship of some sort with this Ruby person, and had nearly been expelled from school. He also knew for absolute certain that Sam was not the person he had been six months ago, whether he’d known Sam then or not. Castiel had asked to be his friend, to be on his side and help him on his path to change. And if that meant defending him from his own family’s judgments then that was what he would do.

“Hey, kid.” Said Gabe, raising his hands in defense. “Don’t take it the wrong way. I like Sam. He’s a good kid. I just wanted to let you know that… you know, if anything… goes wrong, I guess. You can talk to me. If you need.”

Castiel relaxed. Perhaps he had gotten too used to expecting the worst of family. Of course Gabriel wouldn’t hold Sam’s mistakes against him forever. He’d been quite friendly on Monday night. The poor man looked massively uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot in the doorway. Castiel offered him a smile, kicking his shoes into the corner and drawing his knees up into the bed. “Thank you, Gabriel.” He said quietly.

“What did you think of Deano?” Gabe grinned. “Is he a bag of hot air, or what?”

Cas dropped his face, hoping Gabriel didn’t see the expression he knew must be all over it. “He loves Sam very much.” He deflected quietly.

“I know.” Gabriel rolled his eyes, throwing his weight against the doorjamb. “He’s like a junkyard dog where that kid is concerned. Did he give you a hard time for hanging out with Sammy?”

“No.” It wasn’t really a lie. He’d been quite kind, even if it had clearly been hard for him.

“Sure he didn’t.” Gabe scoffed.

“He called me Cas.” Castiel couldn’t have said what made him say that, or the quiet admission that followed it. “I liked it.”

He glanced up to find Gabriel staring at him, his eyes narrowed and something half-formed on his lips. “Oh no, kid.” He breathed and Castiel stilled instantly. He could feel Gabe’s voice like a brand on his skin. Disappointment. Anger. Shouting. He was going to start shouting. Castiel curled into himself, bracing for it.

“No! No!” Gabriel pleaded in a half-terrified voice, dropping down onto the bed next to him and slinging an arm around Castiel’s shoulders. He pulled him into a rib-cracking hug. “No, Cassie, never. I didn’t mean _that_.” Cas hadn’t realized he’d begun to cry. His tears spilled dark across Gabe’s ridiculous robe, turning green to black. It was almost fascinating.

“I don’t care, I promise. Not like that.” Gabe continued to mutter, stroking Castiel’s hair. “I’m not Dad, ok?”

Castiel nodded, reigning in the visceral panic bubbling up in his chest. Gabriel was not their father. Gabriel was not their father. He repeated it to himself over and over again, a chant in his head to calm his stuttering heart.

“I’m sorry.” He hiccoughed into Gabe’s shoulder, embarrassed. “I don’t know…why.”

“I do.” Gabe growled, anger creeping back into his voice. “Because Dad’s a fucking asshole, that’s why. I’m not gonna kick you out, kid. You like who you like and don’t ever apologize to me for it. Ok?”

Cas nodded, his voice a tiny squeak. “Ok.” He promised.

When he’d calmed down enough to sit back, wiping his tears on his sleeve, Gabe cracked a rueful smile. “I just meant ‘oh no’ in the sense that Dean Winchester is just about the last guy I’d have hoped you’d go for.”

“Why?” Cas asked, trying to let curiosity beat out annoyance. He supposed Gabe was entitled to play the protective older brother just as much as Dean was.

Gabe chuckled. “Take your pick of reasons! Because he takes home a different girl every week and never calls any of them back? Because he’s been rocking the whole macho douchebag look since before it was cool? For crying out loud, Cas, look at his car! Look at his clothes! Look at his stupid spiky hair! He’s a man’s man’s man.” Gabe sighed, patting Castiel’s cheek gently. “I didn’t mean ‘oh no, you like a dude’. I meant ‘oh no, I don’t want you to get your heart broken’, kid.”

Castiel snorted. “I’m not in any danger of breaking my heart, Gabriel.” He assured his brother laughingly.

“Oh really? You weren’t making that gooey face just now talking about your new nickname Dean gave you?”

Cas scowled. His face was in no way gooey. “Not for the reason you think.” He insisted. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he wasn’t attracted to Dean. Anyone with eyes would be. But he didn’t want his brother reading too much into that. “I’ve barely had friends before,” he explained, “and none who didn’t want something from me. Father’s approval, money, a pet to follow them about and agree with their every word.” Gabriel’s dark look said he remembered what it felt like to be one of the Novak clan quite clearly, though Cas doubted anyone had ever gone so far as to try and domesticate his older brother. No one could be that stupid. “I’ve never had friends who like me just for myself. But with Sam and Jo, Alfie and Dean, it’s easier. It just…fits, I suppose.”

Gabe grinned, gripping Cas’s shoulder a littler tighter. “Good, kid. That’s good.” He said.

“Although I can think of at least one thing they all want from me.” Castiel added, hiding a smile as Gabriel tilted his head in concern.

“What?”           

“Baked goods. Yours, specifically.” Castiel explained with a small smile.

Gabriel burst out laughing. “Well, kid, you name it and it’s yours. Call ‘em friendship incentives or bribes or whatever you want. I think it’s safe to assume though, that they don’t just like you for my cookies. They mostly get those from me on their own.”

Castiel tried to suppress a yawn and failed miserably.

“Look at you, all tuckered out from being a little social butterfly.” Gabriel crooned, fluffing Cas’s hair with his fingers.

“Go to bed, Gabriel.” Castiel sighed, but it was a fond sort of sigh. Gabriel stood and smoothed out his robe, frowning at the wet patch on his shoulder.

“Gonna have to get the snot out of this before it sets.” He joked. Before he could flick off the light Cas spoke up.

“Thank you, Gabriel.”

“For what? Gabe asked, glancing back over his shoulder with one hand on the light switch and one hand on the doorknob.  

“For taking me in. For giving me a place when I had none.” Castiel waited until his brother met his eye, making sure Gabe knew how serious he was. “Thank you for not being our Father.”

Gabe sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening just for a second. Then he blew it out in a loud raspberry. “Yeah well. You’re welcome, kid. Sleep tight, alright?”

“Good night, Gabriel.”

“Good night, Cas.”

 

*            *            *            *

 

The weekend was over almost before it began and Castiel found himself anxiously awaiting lunch period on Monday. He had picked out the pastries for his lunch himself today, hoping Jo, Alfie, and Sam would enjoy his selections. In his box were a double fudge brownie for Sam, a pair of feather-light macaroons for Jo, and a stack of delicate almond lace cookies for Alfie. He hoped they would survive the day in his locker without being crushed. So long as his books didn’t fall on them they should be just fine.

He ducked into the bathroom between periods, still thinking about whether he should have brought the strawberry cupcake for Jo instead, when a hand dropped heavily onto his shoulder.

“Hey there, android.” Sneered a weedy voice as Castiel was spun viciously and pinned to the frigid tile wall. Cronies Two and Three leered menacingly at him from far too close, their liberal application of toiletries instantly making him nauseous.

“Kennedy.” Castiel nodded, “Rigby.” He’d remembered the names Dean had used the week before. Rigby was the one with the unfortunate skin condition and Kennedy was the short one who seemed to speak mostly in swears.

“You Sam Winchester’s new crack-whore? Gonna replace that Harvelle bitch the way she took over for Ruby?” Rigby demanded. Castiel just stared at him, taking a modicum of satisfaction when he began to twitch uncomfortably. 

“Raphael’s pretty pissed about your mouth last week.” Rigby informed him snidely.

“I should imagine he would be.” Castiel agreed easily. He was in no immediate danger from these two. He could easily break Rigby’s hold and a few well-placed strikes would disable the two of them for an easily long-enough time to make his escape. He could afford to be glib. “Raphael doesn’t seem to have much better to do than worry about paltry little things like who said what about him.”

“You need to learn to shut your fucking face, fag.” Grunted Kennedy, his eyes red-rimmed.

Castiel refused to let the slur sting. It was generic, nothing geared specifically towards him yet. And even if it were, even if they somehow knew, what did he care? He had never been ashamed of who he was and he certainly wasn’t going to let these two cretins change that.

“I really do have to get to class.” He said blandly, watching twin smiles of maniacal glee spread across their faces.

“What the fuck do you think this is?” Kennedy asked, leaning in close enough that Cas could smell his breath. Apparently his mouth was the one part of the body he did not use perfume on. Pity.

“I think this is an ill-conceived attempt to terrorize me, either to force me to fall in line behind Raphael’s banner or for your own juvenile enjoyment. Either way, I have better things to do so I’ll be going now.”

And without waiting for them to release him – a vain hope if it could even be called a hope – he snapped his forearms up against Rigby’s skinny wrists, stomped down on his insole with one foot, threw one elbow squarely into his gut and the other right into Kennedy’s fat head. Snatching his bag from the floor where he’d dropped it, Cas made a break for the door. He didn’t bother to check if either one was still able to follow, but jogged straight to his next class. Which happened to be government.

He slid in just as the bell was ringing to see Raphael already seated near the front with his notes open. When he looked up and saw Cas standing unscathed in the doorway he jumped, his mouth twitching open for a second before it snapped closed again.

That told Castiel all he needed to know, really. So Raphael had sent his goons out to deal with him, had he? They were supposed to intimidate him while Raphael himself sat safe and innocently in class under Ms. Powell’s eye. Sam was right. Raphael did act like one of those ridiculous mob bosses in Gabriel’s movies. Well, Castiel had at least seen enough of those to know how to deal with this. He forced his pace to slow, sauntering casually back towards his empty seat near the window. As he passed Raphael’s desk he glanced down, meeting the boy’s eye without blinking.

“Good afternoon, Raphael.” He said in a clear, steady voice.

Raphael’s face crumpled into a scowl and he grit his teeth. “Android.” He gritted.

Cas snorted at the weak insult and dropped into his seat. Of course he knew Raphael wouldn’t stop with this one attempt. He would send three next time. Or come himself. He would be bolder, sneakier, and definitely more violent. Castiel could expect to skip the threats next time, most likely. No, next time they would go straight for a beating and save the taunts for after he was down. He’d seen it over and over again in almost every school he’d been to, a universal truth of high school.

Still, he’d won this round, and as Jo had said last week, the look on Raphael’s face would carry him through to lunch.

 

*            *            *            *

 

He made it to the cafeteria without further incident to find Jo had saved them a table. He didn’t bother with the gargantuan line today since she had promised to bring him a burger and fries from Ellen’s Roadhouse. His mouth had been watering for half an hour at the though of it.

He had liked Ellen very much, though they’d only spoken for a moment on Friday night. She clearly worked very hard to take care of her daughter, the daughter currently standing on her chair and gesturing wildly for him to join her. He waved back and hurried through the crowd to join her, feeling wonderfully solid as he dropped into his own chair.

“Hello, Jo.” He smiled, plopping his bakery box down.

“Heya, Cas.” She greeted with a grin, and he felt a warm little flare in his throat. She reached into her backpack and produced a large Tupperware, sliding it across the table where Cas caught it.

“Did you enjoy your weekend?” he asked politely. He snapped the teal top off the box and inhaled deeply, a grin spreading unchecked. It was cold, and the grease had congealed slightly around the edges of the burger patty, but he found he couldn’t have cared less as he snatched it up and took an enormous bite.

Jo laughed. “You’re worse than Dean.” She told him.

“Where are Sam and Alfie?” he asked when he was sure he wouldn’t spit burger bun all over her.

“Well here comes Sam.” She pointed to where Sam was shoving his way through the crowd towards them. As he reached the table he dropped his bag and slid into his seat, letting out an exhausted groan and throwing his head back so that his hair draped over his shoulders.

“That bad already, hu?” Jo asked.

“Pearson assigned three mock AP essays by Wednesday.” Sam moaned, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“For which class?” Castiel asked.

“U.S. History.” Sam said mournfully. “That’s going to take _forever._ I know we have to write a bunch the day of the test but that’s in like six months! I hadn’t-“

The sound of a lunch tray hitting the table cut him off and they all looked up to see Alfie grinning like a maniac.

“Is it true?” he demanded, staring straight at Cas. “Did you kick the shit out of Rigby and Kennedy in the bathroom?” Jo and Sam stared at him, twin looks of incredulity making him still where he sat.

“I didn’t ‘kick the shit out of’ them.” he murmured, suddenly finding it difficult to meet any of their eyes. “They cornered me, threatened me, I disabled them and left.”

“Disabled them?” Jo repeated, like she didn’t know whether to be skeptical or elated. “What, did you slash their hamstrings or something?”

“No!” Cas protested shrilly. What a horrible thing to suggest. He was a high school student not some bloodthirsty hun warrior. “I just hit them hard enough that they lost their breath and had to let me go. I didn’t want to _hurt_ them.”

“ _I_ would have.” Jo grinned.

“You’ve got to be careful.” Alfie told him seriously. “They’ll be coming after you twice as hard next time.” Cas didn’t miss the way Sam winced. He held his head straighter, hoping he looked unconcerned.

“I’m aware of that, yes. Raphael looked quite annoyed when I made it to class on time and untouched. I should think he might come after me himself, next.”

“Are you alright?” Sam asked softly, peering up from beneath his bangs as though the whole thing was somehow his fault.

“I’m perfectly fine.” Cas assured him. It wasn’t Sam’s fault that any of this was happening, and he didn’t see why the taller boy should feel any differently. Raphael was a bully and a thug and whether or not he and Sam had come to blows last year Castiel doubted he would have made it more than a month without drawing the asshole’s attention. “The idiots clearly don’t know the first thing about immobilizing an opponent.”

“Do you learn that shit in fencing?” Jo demanded excitedly. “Maybe I should drop the field hockey and take it up.”

“Really?” Alfie asked hopefully, finally sitting.

“Dude, no.” Jo laughed. “I am way more at home with a big-ass stick than a wobbily little sword-thing.”

“It’s called a foil and no.” Castiel corrected simply. “Fencing can help with the footwork of a hand to hand fight but I also practiced aikido a bit as a child.”

“What’s that, like karate?” Alfie asked.

“It’s a martial art dealing primarily with balance and momentum. You learn to focus your energy, to economize it for maximum effect, and to use your opponent’s weight and momentum against him. My brother Lucifer has won many competitions in the discipline.”

“Wait.” Sam held up his hand, his mouth twitching bizarrely. “You’re telling me that not only are you some sort of secret ninja badass, but you have a brother called _Lucifer_ , who is a champion a what sounds like the sneakiest, most manipulative form of martial arts there is. Is that correct?”

“Aikido and ninjitsu are two different-“

“Cas?” Sam interrupted.

“Yes?”

“You’re awesome.”


	8. A Simple Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid I'm not at all happy with this chapter. It may be subject to overhaul in the near future, but for now it's blocking the way forward so I've decided to post it as-is and see where it gets me. Feedback is very much appreciated.

Castiel pressed a hand to the faded and stained jacket in his hands, wondering what decade it had come from. Certainly not either of the last two, judging by the smell. Still, the straps were intact, if a bit stiff. The plastrons laying in a little pile near the bleachers were cracked and nearly useless, and there didn’t seem to be any pants or shoes at all. The foils were too rigid and a couple blunted with wads of electrical tape rather than proper tips.

“I know,” Alfie said from beside him, a rueful blush framing his sheepish smile. “It’s just a bunch of old junk, isn’t it?”

Cas smiled, hefting a slightly rusted foil and giving it a few passes. “It’s certainly not the most modern equipment, but not completely unserviceable.”

“I bet you had brand new lames and pistol grips and everything back in Connecticut, hu?” Alfie asked in a dreamy tone.

Cas winced. “I didn’t practice in Connecticut, although I’m sure the school would have had excellent facilities. And I’ve always preferred a French grip to a pistol grip.”

“And a saber?” Alfie grinned and Castiel tilted his head at him. Alfie shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know. For some reason you look like a saber guy.”

Cas smiled. “No. Gabriel often fought with a saber but my father wanted me to learn with a foil. I think Gabriel just did it to annoy him, honestly.”

Alfie laughed.

“Are you still not going to tell me who did that?” Castiel asked, motioning to the rapidly purpling bruise along the side of Alfie’s head. His fluff of wavy hair mostly hid it but not entirely. It bled down in a livid line just in front of his ear nearly to his jaw. By tomorrow that whole side of his face would be a riot of greens, blues and reds.

Strangely, Alfie only grinned. “I know who you think it was but Raphael’s not the only one outside my fan club. I’m an easy target, you know.”

“Are you?” Cas tossed him a moth-eaten facemask. He tugged on his weapon glove and hefted his blade. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”

For twenty minutes they didn’t speak, just tested out each other’s styles and reflexes. It was clear from the start the Cas was the better swordsman by far, but he was surprised to find Alfie as agile as he was. Cas could see that Alfie was clearly better than he thought he was. He didn’t trust his movements, didn't commit to his lunges when he should have. He was also a bit stiff but Cas suspected that he had other bruises to hide under his gear that may be hindering his movements. He still managed to land a few points on Cas though, though only about a third as many as Cas landed on him. After an embarrassingly short time Cas was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. He called a break and collapsed on the bleachers, pulling the mask off and running his ungloved hand through his damp hair.

"I am very out of practice." He panted, embarrassed.

Alfie grinned. "And you're still better than anyone I've ever sparred." He laughed. "You must really be something when you're in shape."

Cas let that pass. He let his gaze wander to the other three members of the fencing club. Alfie had introduced the blocky olive-skinned boy as Virgil, the reedy brunette as Hannah, and the incredibly loud blonde as Becky. Virgil and Hannah were trading turns practicing a parry, while Becky stood to one side and criticized their technique in a strident, carrying voice.

“No don’t put your foot like that! Turn your heel out. Grip the pommel tighter!”

Cas suppressed a groan. She really had no idea what she was talking about. At all. But that didn’t seem to be a deterrent for her, though. In fact, the less sense she made the louder she made it. Virgil appeared to have a decent skill set but Hannah was clearly a bit lost. She was enjoying herself, though, smiling when either of them managed to correctly complete the move.

They were nearly at the end of the hour for which they’d reserved the gym and Castiel felt a pinpoint headache starting behind his left eye. It was strange to think that up until a few days ago this is how he had felt whenever he was forced to spend more than an hour or two in anyone’s company. Now he had four people (five if he included Gabriel) with whom he could spend hours and not feel the aching pressure of exhaustion coiled around his shoulders.

“Cas!” Sam jogged across the gym to join them, his practice jersey sticking to his shoulders with sweat.

“Hello, Sam.” Cas smiled, “How are lacrosse tryouts going?” Sam had explained that the lacrosse team was so popular at Lawrence that there would be several days of tryouts in a row. Each year group would have their own day, and at the end of the week the team would be chosen. Sam had volunteered to help his friend Brady run drills for the other years.

“Only half over.” Sam grinned. “I was sent to get the med kit. Brady cracked some freshman in the face with his cross.”

“Nice.” Alfie laughed. “Captain pulverizing his own team before they even make it _on_ the team.”

“Kid’s bleeding kinda bad but I don’t think his nose is broken.” Sam shrugged. “Thought I’d swing by and see how fencing is going?”

Alfie didn’t wait for Cas to offer an opinion before he launched into praise. “Cas is good, man. _Really_ good. Like, professional.”

Cas snorted softly and felt his face burn. “Alfie is exaggerating.” He told Sam firmly.

Alfie shook his head. “Not by much, man. I can’t wait to see him when he’s back in shape.”

“Alfie is also very skilled, more so than he thinks.” Castiel wasn’t going to let Alfie turn the spotlight completely on his rusty performance. He smiled at Sam. “I believe he will make an excellent team captain this year.”

Even Alfie’s hair blushed.

“Awesome!” Sam beamed. He glanced around, pausing as he noticed the girl hovering in the gym doorway. “I think someone wants to talk to you, Cas.” he said, elbowing him in the ribs and pointing.

Amelia stood there, her hair draped over one shoulder to expose her long, pale throat. She clutched her book bag in front of her and stared at Castiel with a peculiar expression.

“Oh dear.” Castiel sighed quietly.

Sam glanced at him, surprised. “I thought didn’t care whether Raphael wanted you talking to his girlfriend or not.”

“I couldn’t care less about that.” Castiel confirmed with a nod. “I just don’t enjoy the way she feels it necessary to ask for forgiveness for her boyfriend’s transgressions. It makes me quite angry, actually.”

Alfie snorted. “At least _someone_ apologizes for that douche.”

“It shouldn’t be anyone but him. It’s completely meaningless otherwise. A waste of breath.” Castiel stood, stretching and handing his foil to Alfie. “I had better go see what she wants.” He said.

As he crossed the gym Amelia’s posture changed. She slumped all her weight onto one hip, dipping her bare shoulder into a gentle slope. Her whole demeanor shifted into something soft and pliable. Cas found it slightly unsettling.

“Hello, Amelia.” He said.

“Hi, Castiel.” She twittered, her voice lighter and higher than he remembered. He waited for a long moment before she spoke again. “I was just, um,” she shifted uneasily. “You’re very good.” She motioned to his gear, a pretty blush dusting her cheeks.

“Thank you.” Cas said, wondering what she was dancing around this time. The pain in his head was spreading. He really wished she’d just get on with it.

“I was, uhm, I was wondering how you were.” She mumbled in that same downy, sweet tone. “I know… I heard about Mark and Alex.” When Castiel simply looked at her blankly she explained. “Rigby and Kennedy? I know they were after you because of Raph.”

“Are you extending your apologies for your boyfriend’s lackies now?” Cas demanded shortly. He really didn’t have the patience for this. He wanted a shower and a change of clothes and to get to work on time, not to listen to her excuses for someone else’s inexcusable behavior.

Amelia flinched. “I –“

Cas sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude.” She smiled winsomely. “I know very well that you had nothing to do with that, nothing more than you have to do with any of the bullying and fear-mongering Raphael deals in. You know it, too. And as we’re both very aware of that fact I have no idea what you could possibly have to say on the matter that would be of any importance.”

Amelia’s mouth flopped open. “I just wanted to say sorry,” she began, but Castiel cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“Your apologies are hollow. As I said before they are not yours to make.”

“But he,”

Castiel pressed on, genuinely angry now. “If you feel such an overwhelming need to smooth over the feathers he ruffles and bind the wounds he goes around inflicting, my advice is that your time would be better spent new boyfriend and stop this foolish martyrdom.”

He turned on his heel and marched back to Sam and Alfie, too annoyed to speak with her any longer.

“A bit harsh, man.” Sam said, watching Amelia flee the gym. “I think she was crying.”

Cas grunted. “I don’t understand what she possibly hopes to accomplish by apologizing for Rigby and _Kennedy_. They are not sorry. We all know they are not sorry; they aren’t capable of the feeling. What’s more, I don’t care. I’ve seen this all before, again and again. There are petty tyrants just like Raphael, and foolish lapdogs just like his friends in every school I’ve ever seen. It’s a simple truth. Avoid them when you can, fight them when you must, run when it’s prudent. This is what school is. This is what life is. I’ve survived a dozen iterations of it before. I’ll survive it here whether or not she takes pity on me for being unfortunate enough not to enjoy licking her boyfriend’s boots. Her words are useless and I don’t want them.”

When Cas finished his little tirade, Sam and Alfie blinked at him. “Dude.” Breathed Sam. “That’s like, the longest I think I’ve ever heard you speak at one time before.” Alfie was staring at the floor, shrunken in on himself the way he was around Dean. Was he afraid of this tiny flash of temper Cas was showing? Apparently.

Cas deflated, dropping to the bleachers again. “I apologize.” He murmured. Alfie flicked his eyes up to him and then away again.

Sam shook his head. “No, man. It’s alright. I just wasn’t expecting it. You don’t blink at all when Raphael is hurling insults at you, his buddies try to beat you up in a bathroom and you don’t even mention it, but Amelia says sorry and you flip your lid.”

Cas smiled weakly. “I suppose I was a bit cruel.” He admitted. “But I can’t stand the idiocy of it, taking responsibility for things that have nothing to do with her.”

Sam grunted. “I get it.” As he unbuckled the jacket, Cas wondered if he did. Sam was doing same thing, really. Perhaps he had a better excuse for his guilt. He had never readily aligned himself with that cretin like Amelia had. Still, Cas could not accept anyone taking credit for their behavior but those four hooligans themselves.

“I must get to work.” Castiel stood, waiting until Alfie looked up at him. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to help sort the equipment.”

“’Salright.” Mumbled Alfie. “Virgil and I can handle it.”

“I enjoyed this very much.” Cas assured him, wishing he hadn’t allowed Amelia’s presence to spoil the afternoon for the both of them. If he hadn’t gotten so riled up Alfie wouldn’t be cringing away from him like he was now. It really was like being friends with a young deer. “I’ll be looking forward to Saturday.”

A tiny smile cracked Alfie’s mournful expression. “Cool.”

“I will see you tomorrow.” Cas said. With a nod to Sam and Alfie and a wave to the others he left.

 

*            *            *            *

 

He didn’t hear it coming.

He was jogging down the sidewalk a few blocks from Reynard’s, having run to Gabriel’s to shower and change into something clean for work. His eyes were on his watch and his mind already on the new inventory George had asked him to organize at the bookshop. Then he was facedown on the pavement, the smell of garbage thick in his nostrils and a bright pain flashing across his cheekbone. A foot connected with his gut, forcing the air from his lungs. Another kick and he thought he would vomit. A heel stamped on his shoulder, a fist cracked against his skull. For a few moments the world was a blur of sharp pain and cold concrete. Then someone spoke.

“Fucking little _shit_.” Ah. Kennedy. That made sense.

“Choke on your teeth, Android.” snarled Rigby, aiming a kick at Cas’s head. It caught him mostly in the shoulder but connected hard enough for his jaw to vibrate.

“Someone’s coming!” Hissed a voice Cas didn’t recognize. A flurry of footsteps faded quickly, leaving him stunned and bloody.

It took nearly a full minute before he could see where he was. It was a narrow alley crammed with dumpsters, a dilapidated chain-link fence closing in the far end. The busy street was only a few feet to his right, the noise of the traffic bizarrely familiar after the chaos of the last few minutes.

With a groan he shoved himself up to his knees. A smattering of blood hit the pavement beneath his face and he gingerly touched two fingers to his cheek. There was a large gash across the bone, nearly extending to his ear and he saw a glint below him where he’d fallen. A smashed bottle. Lovely. He would need a tetanus shot. He crawled to the wall, using the arm that hadn’t been kicked to haul himself upright. Collapsing back against it he tried to catch his breath. When he was sure he wouldn’t fall down, he shoved off and stumbled back towards the street.

He would not be going to work like this, he thought. He began hobbling back towards Reynard’s hoping no pedestrian would happen upon him is this dreadful state. Not only was he bloody, scuffed, and drenched in the scent of garbage, but he was angry. He’d allowed himself to be caught off guard, and by Rigby and Kennedy. He’d known they were coming after him, and he shouldn’t have expected to be safe just because it was outside of school hours. In fact, they’d been cleverer than he’d expected and avoided possible expulsion by attacking him off school grounds. He shuffled along, cursing them and his own stupidity as he pressed one hand to his cheek to stop the flow of blood.

Castiel only made it a few dozen steps before a loud rumbling roar cut across the traffic and the sleek black impala passed him. With a squeal of breaks it pulled a sharp u-turn and came to a stop a few feet in front of him.

“Cas, what the hell?!” Dean cried, flinging himself out of the driver’s side door and catching Cas as he stumbled.

“Hello, Dean.” He said calmly, trying to ignore the ache moving his jaw caused. “I would very much appreciate a ride to Gabriel’s.”

“What happened?” demanded Dean, his gaze flicking from Cas’s face to just above his hip. Cas glanced down to find his shirt was torn open and a bruise was quickly spreading across the soft flesh below his ribs

“I got distracted.” Growled Cas. “I really would like to go to the apartment now, Dean.”

“Do you need to go to a hospital, man?” Dean asked with a peculiar expression. He was thin-lipped and pale, a bright slash of red across the bridge of his nose. Castiel was too tired and sore to try and parse out that look.

“Eventually.” Cas agreed, “but-“

“Get in the car.” Dean snapped, slipping his arm around Castiel’s waste and hauling him forward.

“Dean,”

“Get in the car, Cas.” Dean repeated in a granite tone. Cas sighed and obeyed, knowing from the tense set of Dean’s shoulders that he was going to hospital whether he wanted to or not.


	9. Friending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. These last few chapters have been rough for me to put together. It's just not flowing the way want it to (the broken computer didn't help either, but thankfully I got it replaced) so your patience while I work it out is much appreciated. To all those lovely enough to comment: you have no idea how encouraging your kind words have been! Please let me know if there are any bits your particularly enjoy or feel don't fit.

Dean held the phone away from his ear, grimacing as Gabriel swore viciously down the line. He stood in the hall outside the little semi-private room they’d taken Cas into, hoping none of the nurses caught him on the cell phone. He’d already texted Sammy to let him know he wouldn’t be picking him up from lacrosse practice but he’d figured Gabe deserved an actual call.

“Gabe!” he snapped. “Gabe!”

“What?” roared Gabriel.

“He’s fine! Cas is fine. He’s got a few stitches on his cheek and he’s going to be bruised to shit by morning but nothing’s broken. He seems more pissed off than anything, really.” Dean quirked a smile. Castiel was one tough little nerd. He had been fuming as he sank against Baby’s passenger seat, smearing blood across the dash with one hand. Dean had scrounged up a handful of fast food napkins for him to press against his face, ignoring Cas’s protests about unhygienic first aid. As they took off for the hospital Cas muttered darkly to himself about distraction and underestimating his enemies. Dean hadn’t interrupted, too fascinated by the discussion Cas was having with himself. By the time they’d pulled into the emergency room parking lot Castiel had gone silent. His jaw set and his eyes flashing, he’d allowed Dean to guide him inside and check him in for treatment. He’d produced an insurance card from his wallet and his student ID without even blinking. 

“Did he say what happened?” Gabriel demanded. Dean could hear the crackle of brimstone in his voice. Gabe was a scary son of a bitch when he was pissed.

“No, but I’ll give you three guesses.” Dean said flatly. This had Raphael written all over it, the bastard.

“I’ll peel that little dickhole’s skin off and feed it to him.” growled Gabe, apparently coming to the same conclusion.

“Dude,” Dean scoffed, “Imagery. Anyway, the doctors are just finishing up with him. I’ll drive him to your place in a few.”

“Thanks, Dean. If you happen to see Finnerman on the way…”

“Yeah?”

“Run him down, won’t you?”

Dean laughed. “As long as there aren’t any speed cameras, sure.”

He hung up, dropping the phone into his pocket and wiping a hand across his smudged face. He was still covered in grease from his morning under that old ford truck and dying for a shower. He could smell his own sweat above the stink of disinfectant that clogged the hall. He’d been thinking of the last two beers in his fridge and the possibility of shower beer when he’d seen Cas stumbling down the sidewalk half-covered in gore. But, if there was one thing Dean Winchester was good at it was taking care of people. So he'd put aside his desperate ache for Old Spice to make sure Cas didn't die in a gutter. He was a freaking hero. 

Muffling a yawn he turned back into the room. Behind the paper curtain to his left an old man was trying to hack up one of his lungs and across from the door Castiel sat ramrod straight on the bed as a white-haired doctor poked and prodded at his midsection.

“I don’t think this should cause any problems.” She sniffed, her fingers drifting over his side. “Didn’t rupture your spleen. Two ribs are bruised but not broken.” Well if Cas wasn’t going to wince Dean would. He knew for a fact that bruised ribs were a _bitch._ “It’ll hurt like the dickens over the next few weeks but a bit of ice, try not to move around too much and you should be fine.” Cas didn’t say a word.

“You don’t appear to have a concussion but you will need to be monitored closely over the next twelve hours to be sure. Do you have someone who can do that for you?”

“Yes.” Cas clipped.

“Good.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Cas said, staring fixedly at the wall.

“Nice job with the stitches, doc.” Dean commented, leaning forward to inspect the neat line of six across Castiel’s cheek. They were tiny and tight, cutting through his tanned skin just above the edge of the dark stubble already coming in along his jaw. Kid must have a pretty thick beard.

“Will it scar?” Cas asked, sounding like he couldn’t have cared less one way or the other.

“It’s a very clean cut.” The doctor shrugged. “If you keep it clean and don’t pick at it, it should heal very neatly with minimal scarring.”

“Don’t worry, Cas.” Dean told him with a cheerful wink. “Chicks dig scars.”

Cas gave him an odd look but didn’t comment.

“You mustn’t get the stitches wet. Be very careful when you shower.” Said the doctor, drawing a nod from Cas.

“Is that it, doc? Can I take him home?” Dean asked, flashing a smile that had never failed to charm a lady doctor before. She looked unimpressed.

“Yes.” She said flatly. “Again, I would urge you to contact the police.” It wasn’t a bad idea but Cas had already shut it down a few times. Before she even finished her sentence Dean saw him shaking his head.

“That won’t be necessary.” Castiel grated, standing and leaning to retrieve his shirt from the chair beside his bed. He hissed sharply and froze halfway, his arm half-extended and pain flaring bright in his eyes as his other hand flew to his ribs.

“I got it!” Dean said, jumping to grab the ruined shirt. It was ripped and bloody, smeared with mud some sort of greasy gunk Dean didn’t want to think too hard about. From the smell he could guess it wasn’t anything good. Rather than draping the filthy thing around Cas’s newly-bandaged and cleaned shoulders, he shucked his leather jacket and threw that over him.

Cas blinked, but his fingers instantly tightened in the lapels of the coat, drawing its too-big warmth closer.

The doctor thrust a form at Dean, her face blandly disinterested. “Alright. Your choice, of course. Give this to the ladies at the front and you’re set to go. They’ll have a prescription for some painkillers for the next few days that you can fill at the hospital pharmacy downstairs. If you have any difficulty breathing come back immediately.”

“Thank you.” Cas repeated, a bit more softly this time. The doctor nodded and left.

“Ready to go?” Dean asked brightly, trying to ignore the way Cas’s lazer-eyes bored into him.

“You called Gabriel.” He said.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, wondering if that was a bad thing. His brother should know he was in the hospital, right?

Castiel sighed, his eyes slipping closed. “I don’t want to go home.” He said quietly. 

Dean felt his jaw flap open uselessly. Was Cas actually embarrassed? “Dude, Gabriel wasn’t mad or anything. Well,” Dean backtracked, “not at _you_ , anyway."

Cas said nothing. Tears were forming in his eyes but Dean couldn't tell if that was from the pain or the thought of facing Gabriel. 

"He’s not gonna be a dick about this, is he?” Dean asked darkly. He couldn't imagine Gabe being  _that_ much of a prick about Cas getting himself beat to hell but something was sure spooking the kid. 

“No.” Cas shook his head faintly. “No, I…” his mouth snapped shut. 

Dean pursed his lips. Something was going on Dean didn’t get but he could sort of understand if Cas wanted a few hours to collect himself before facing Gabriel. 

“Come on, Cas.” Dean said, pulling his phone from his pocket and opening a text. 

“Yes, Dean.” Cas said quietly, falling into step behind Dean. 

As they made their way to the front desk Dean fired off a text to Gabriel. _Cas is gonna hang at mine for a couple hours, ok?_

Not even a full minute passed until his phone pinged with a reply. _Why?_

_I figure Sam’s the better choice to cheer him up than either of us._ Dean sent back. 

Another minute went by, another ping. _Good thinking._

Cas didn’t say a word as they checked out, collected his prescription, and made their way to the parking lot. He waited silently while Dean unlocked the impala and slid into the passenger’s seat without comment.

After another five minutes of completely silent driving Dean couldn’t take it anymore and shoved Houses of the Holy into the tape deck. He let it blast as they drove, his thumbs drumming on the steering wheel. 

“That was the turn for Reynard’s.” Cas said, pointing as the street flew past. 

Dean shrugged. “You said you didn’t want to go home. I figure you can hang out at my place ’til Sam gets home. I already texted Gabe to let him know you wouldn’t be back for a while.”

Castiel stared at him for an uncomfortably long time before he relaxed marginally. “Thank you, Dean.” 

Dean just cranked the music louder. He drove, sneaking glances over at the silent patient the whole way. The “pissed as hell” look began to fade after a few blocks, replaced by something else, something sad, maybe? It was hard to tell with Cas’s amazing wooden face. His eyes seemed darker, more ocean than sky (Jesus, thought Dean, get a grip) and his lips were pushed forward slightly in an almost-pout. He was still clutching the jacket, staring down at the scuffed buttons as though they might hold the secrets of eternal life.

They passed from the yuppie neighborhood where Gabe lived and headed into the college portion of town. Tall, skinny houses, each leaning heavily on the next, were stacked along narrow streets crowded with half-rusted cars and bikes locked to chainlink fences. He pulled into one of the few private drives - the main reason he’d wanted this place, honestly - of the little brown triple-decker he and Sam called home and killed the engine. It looked about ready to start pouring any minute so he hustled around the car to help Cas as he struggled to stand up straight. 

“We’re the top floor.” Dean said apologetically, “Do you think you can make it?” 

Cas clenched his jaw and nodded, accepting the arm Dean looped around his waist for support. It was a long, slow climb, Cas leaning more and more heavily on Dean with each step. By the time they reached the third floor landing Dean was practically carrying him. 

He propped Cas up against the wall while he fished around for his keys and opened his array of locks and deadbolts (“it’s not the best neighborhood”, he explained sheepishly) and swung the door in. If Cas had been a bit closer to consciousness Dean would have been embarrassed. The tiny one-bedroom apartment he shared with Sam was laughably plain, just beige walls and cracked laminate floors, chipped roller blinds that may at one time have been white and a bare bulb in the ceiling of the front hall. Dean had been to Gabe’s once or twice. He knew it was pretty swanky, even if Gabriel had decorated it like some seventies bachelor pad with his weird suede fetish and leopard-print everything. The living room was nearly empty, just a pair of mismatched armchairs and the futon that did double duty as the couch and Dean’s bed and a tiny TV on a cheap stand. 

“Here,” Dean said, scurrying forward to clear a space on the futon. He’d been running late for his early shift this morning and left his blankets and pillows scattered across it and he shoved them over to one end so Cas could sit down. 

Cas didn’t budge. He stood frozen in the doorway, one hand still holding Dean’s coat tight around his shoulders and a sorrowful expression overtaking his usually blank face. 

“Cas?” Dean took a step towards him and blinked when Cas flinched away, his eyes filling with tears. 

“I am not a danger to your brother.” He said quietly and with such desperate conviction that Dean rocked back on his heels.

“What?” What the hell was this kid talking about?

“I am not a danger to Sam.” Cas repeated, louder.

Dean snorted. “You didn’t beat _yourself_ up, did you?”

Cas shook his head, completely ignoring Dean’s lame attempt to lighten the mood. “I know Sam needs to avoid confrontations, avoid fighting with Raphael to keep from being expelled. I know that he needs to prove to Chuck Shurley that he has changed. I have no intention of jeapordizing that. I did not incite this. I don’t want to fight with anyone. I will defend myself, that’s all.”

“Woah, Cas, hold up.” Dean waved a hand to cut him off but Cas pushed on.

“I won’t look to Sam for protection. I am his friend. I only want to be his _friend._ I won’t force him to step in on my behalf. I won’t put him in danger. I am very capable of taking care of myself. It’s only they caught me off guard. I was thinking of work, I didn’t see them-“

“CAS!” Dean dropped a hand on the boy’s less injured shoulder. “What the hell, man? Do you think I’m mad at you for getting the piss beaten out of you?”

Cas dropped his head. “I know you are very protective of Sam. I know you won’t hesitate to remove from his life anyone who is a threat to his well-being.”

Dean sat back, chewing on his lip. Ok, that was a pretty fair assessment. At least, that’s what he’d always tried to do before. “And you think that means you?”

“I think _you_ think that.” Cas clarified. “I have a target on my back that I doubt will fade. Raphael dislikes me and wants to cause me pain. By associating with me Sam’s chances of running afoul of Raphael increase.”

“Hu.” Dean frowned, dropping his hand to his side again. He looked for a long moment at the skinny kid, too pale beneath his bruises. “Sit down, Cas.”

“Dean-“

“Sit.” Dean gently guided Cas down, not missing when he froze halfway down and a shock of pain flashed across his face. The kid was fucking _hurting_ and doing a damn good job of hiding it. When Cas was seated as comfortably as could be expected Dean went and grabbed one of his old t-shirts from the closet. It was a green Roadhouse t-shirt he’d had for about a million years and he dropped it in Cas’s lap. Then he went to the tiny kitchen - really more of a kitchenette than a true kitchen - and took down a chipped mug from the cupboard. This little detour was more to calm himself down than for Cas, but it was something that had always worked when Sam was a kid and needed calming down. He filled the mug with the last of the milk from the fridge, squirted a giant blob of chocolate syrup into it and stuck a spoon into the mug. When he got back Cas had shucked the leather jacket and was sitting hunched inside the too-big t-shirt looking terrified. Dean pressed the mug into Cas’s hands and tried to ignore the knot slowly twisting in his throat. He frigging sucked at this kind of thing, but the poor kid was freaking out. 

He could do this. He’d talked Sammy down from a full on panic more times than he could count. He could do this. 

Sitting down on the edge of the futon Dean frowned. “Look, Cas,” he didn’t miss the slight flush that crawled up Cas’s throat but he’d think of that later. “There are a couple major problems with your theory.” Cas looked like he was about to argue but Dean talked over his protest. “Firstly,” he said loudly, “Raphael’s a major dickwad. He’s going to make sure Sam ‘runs afoul’ of him one way or another all on his own. Secondly, I’m learning recently that I can’t just cut people out of Sam’s life for him, whether I really want to or not. It’s his life and I need to let him run it, no matter how hard that rubs against the grain.”

“But you-“

Dean shut his eyes and kept talking. He couldn’t believe he was getting into all this with some kid he barely knew; he couldn’t even have a decent conversation with Sam about serious shit like this without cracking jokes until the kid gave up. And yet here he was having a heart-to-heart with a rumpled and stitched Castiel and it was only the third time they’d even met. The kid just looked so freaking _sad._

“Thirdly,” he continued gamely, “Sam told me how you stood up for him in the cafeteria last week when Raphael was getting his douche on. He said you stepped in a saved him from doing something stupid when Finnerman was winding him up.So I know you got his back, ok? I get it.”

Cas let out a breath, sinking back against the seat in relief. A tiny smile cracked his face. “Thank you, Dean.” He said softly.

“You were really worked up there.” Dean noted, cracking his most disarming smile.

Cas blushed, dropping his eyes to the dingy carpet. “I haven’t had many friends. Sam is one of the first. I would very much like to be a good friend to him.” 

Dean scratched at his jaw. “Hu.” What was he supposed to say to something like that, exactly? 

“Thank you for being so understanding, Dean.” 

“Don’t mention it. Like, seriously, don’t.” Cas nodded, tracking the bubbles in his chocolate milk.“And Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean grinned, unable to resist. “’Run afoul?’ Seriously?”

Cas blushed like a freaking tomato. Dean laughed.

“Look, I smell like an engine so I’m going to take a shower. You good here for a bit?” 

Cas took a long sip of his chocolate milk, his eyes lighting up as it passed his lips. “Yes, thank you.” He murmured. 

“Good. Remote’s there,” he motioned toward the end of the couch, “you can help yourself to anything in the fridge. Not much in there though.” Dean scratched at the back of his head self-consciously. “There’s some chips and stuff in the cabinets.” 

“I will be quite comfortable. Thank you.” His face was blank but Dean could hear a little smile in Cas’s voice. There was definitely a personality lurking under that stiff upper lip. 

Dean left him sipping his chocolate milk and headed in for a shower, remembering to grab some clothes from the hall closet where his stuff was kept. Didn’t want to give Cas a free show. Poor kid had had a rough enough day already. 

One of the best things about this place - aside from the nice safe private drive for Baby - was the water pressure. It drummed against this knotted back in a lovely torrent, washing more than grease and sweat down the drain. If Cas hadn’t been out on the couch he’d be yelling some Metallica into a shampoo-bottle microphone but he figured the poor kid probably had a headache enough without Dean’s off-key warbling. As the water began to run cold he jumped out and dried off with quick, efficient movements. He could hear the faint hum of the tv through the wall and wondered what Cas was watching. Probably some History Channel thing on industrial Russia. Or maybe CSPAN. Something dry and boring. That seemed like his kind of thing. 

Dean dressed in an old Motorhead t-shirt and a pair of clean sweats and threw the towel over his head, rubbing at his hair as he headed straight for the fridge. He pulled a beer out and slung the towel around his shoulders, dropping to the other end of the couch from Cas and squinting at the TV. 

“What is this?” he asked, twisting the cap off and flicking it expertly into Cas’s empty mug. 

“A documentary on bees.” Cas said, leaning his elbows on his knees, rapt. 

“Bees?” Dean asked, a vaguely sick feeling creeping over him at the sight of hundreds of bees churning around on a wooden box. 

“Their systems of communication.” Cas nodded. “It’s very sophisticated.” 

“What, like C-Bee radios?” Dean joked. He was sort of glad that Cas didn’t seem to hear him. In fact, he was glad Sam hadn’t been here to hear that. Or anyone else. He was tired, that was all.

Cas went on explaining about dancing bees and filling Dean in on what he’d missed but Dean wasn’t listening anyway. They sat in a companionable silence as the program tailed off, Cas watching the bees and Dean mostly watching Cas. It was about the most animated he’d seen him, his eyes bright and flickering in the light of the screen. A tiny, calm smile touched his lips and his breathing was slow and even. It was sort of nice, just sitting here. 

As the credits started to roll Dean cleared his throat. He didn’t really want to ask this, but it had been gnawing at him since Cas said it, a feeling that maybe he knew too well what Cas had meant. And it wasn’t good. 

“Cas?” blue eyes turned to him with unnerving focus. “What did you mean, you don’t want to go home?” 

Cas was silent for a moment. The next show started, something about meerkats and cobras or something and Cas spent a few minutes watching the furry little guys frolic around in the sand. Dean wasn’t sure he was even going to answer until he licked his lips. 

“Gabriel has been very kind to me.” He said, barely above a whisper. “He took me in and helped me at my lowest point. I owe him everything.” 

Shit. Dean was going to have to watch at least 30 episodes of Top Gear to shake off all these damn chick flick moments. This was the third one today. Fourth, if you counted talking Benny through his little meltdown about his ex this morning. He never thought he’d actually use the “plenty of fish in the sea” line but he’d been desperate. 

“I try,” Cas continued, staring at his hands where they hung between his knees, “I try to earn my place. I clean up after us both, I cook when he’s too tired. I make sure all his bills are paid on time.” He smiled thinly. “Sometimes I wonder how he managed to keep the business running before.”

Dean scoffed. “Gabe’s a flake.” He agreed. 

Cas nodded. “Yes. But he’s a flake that saved me.”

“Your family?” Dean guessed. 

Cas nodded.

“They kick you out?”

Cas shrugged. “Something like that. Gabriel is the only family I have now. He is the only one…” he dropped his head. “I promised him I would take care of myself, that I wouldn’t be a burden.” 

“So… what? You’re worried he’ll send you back?” Dean guessed. Sure, Gabe was an asshole but he wasn’t _that_ kind of asshole. 

“He never would.” Cas said, agreeing with Dean’s unspoken thought. “It was a silly reaction. I was scared.”  

The door opened and Sam and Jo came barrelling in, his face scrunched up in his whiniest pout. 

“I really don’t see why you’re so pissed.” Jo was saying in her ‘I’m in no mood for your shit, Sam Winchester’ voice. She was still in a sweaty practice jersey with a frizzy ponytail and Dean wondered how Sam had possibly forgotten rule number one of field hockey season: don’t mess with Jo until after she’s showered.

“Whatcha complaining about now, Sammy?” Dean demanded, hoping to cut off the oncoming storm that was a fed-up Jo. 

The pair looked up and halfway through twin waves froze, eyes widening as they landed on Cas. It was like they’d rehearsed the double-take on the way over. Dean muffled a snigger in his beer. 

“Cas!” Sam hissed, rushing to the couch and dropping on his knees in front of the older boy. 

“Jesus Christ.” Muttered Jo, hovering over his shoulder. 

“I’m fine.” Cas said in a voice steadier than Dean had heard yet today. Cas sat up straighter, held himself deliberately tall as if his ribs weren’t screaming at him the whole time. Damn, this kid was tough. 

Sam gently touched the skin around Cas’s stitches, his eyes flinty. “Who was it?” he demanded in a growl that even Dean found a little frightening. 

Dean wasn’t sure what Sam thought he was going to do by poking at the stitches except maybe piss Cas off but Cas didn’t seem to mind. He gazed at Sam a long moment, not bothering to push his long fingers away as they explored his bruised and broken cheek. “Does it matter?” he asked. 

Indignation flared and Sam reared back on his heels. “Of course it fucking matters, Cas! Look at you!” 

Cas leaned forward, his hand landing on Sam’s shoulder. “Does it matter, Sam?” 

“Cas-“

“I am here.” Cas went on calmly. “I am fine. Nothing is broken, I don’t have a concussion. I am perfectly fine. Dean took me to the hospital and a doctor confirmed it.” He stared Sam down - something Dean knew from experience was no easy feat - refusing to blink until Sam’s nostrils went back to their regular size and he looked a little less like he was about to go on a killing spree. 

Sam set his jaw - his patented ‘this isn’t over’ bitchface - but dropped it. Uncurling to his full height he traded a somber look with Jo. Jo disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a glass of ice water, shoving it into Cas’s hand. He accepted it but looked a little confused. 

“What happened, Cas?” she asked softly, taking a seat next to him. 

Cas looked back and forth between them, lingering on Sam’s tense features before he shook his head. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” He promised. Dean wasn’t sure if he was worried about Sam flying off the handle again or if he just didn’t want to talk about it. Either way it was probably a good call. “What were you two arguing about?”

Jo peeked at Sam uncertainly. “Well, Sam’s pissed at Brady.”

“Why?” Cas asked, sounding interested and not at all like he’d recently had the shit beaten out of him. Dean was more and more impressed by the minute. 

“It’s not important.” Sam shrugged, dropping into one of the armchairs and staring moodily out the window. 

“Brady said he was ‘basically on the team’ today.” Jo explained. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Dean asked. He knew Sam was dying to get back on the team after that mess last year. “Shouldn’t you be doing your happy dance?” Cas gave him a confused head-tilt and Dean mimed an over-enthusiastic cabbage-patch. 

“He doesn’t want pity points with Brady.” Jo explained, raking her fingers mercilessly through her ponytail. 

“If I make the lacrosse team this year I want it to be because I was better than the guys that didn’t.” Sam insisted. “Not because Brady knows I _used_ to be.” 

Dean shrugged. “You gotta let your friends help you out, man.” Dean said and Sam’s expression darkened. 

“I don’t deserve special treatment because I’m Brady’s friend.” Sam growled. 

“Take what you can get, Sammy.” Dean advised. He knew Sam had a streak of the Winchester pride about a thousand miles wide.

“I understand how you feel.” Castiel piped up, tracking the progress of a drop of condensation as it rolled over his knuckles. “I am so far out of practice that I doubt I will be able to complete a tolerable passata sotto without stumbling.” 

“Hu?” Dean grunted intelligently. 

“Fencing.” Jo supplied helpfully. 

“Oh.”

“But,” Cas continued, his eyes sliding over to Sam, “I have to remember that I have other things to offer the team. I have knowledge, and experiences that they haven’t had the benefit of. I have discipline and dedication. I may not be as strong an asset as I once was but my physical prowess was never my only strength.” 

Dean watched Sam’s face soften, his shoulders relaxing as he let out a breath. “Yeah. Thanks, Cas.” He said with a tiny smile. Jo smiled too and the entire room seemed to breathe a sigh.

“Dude.” Dean said, raising his hand to Cas for a high-five. “That was some top-notch friending.”

 


	10. Cold Calls

By early evening Cas could barely keep his eyes open. He had allowed Dean to administer two more of his pain pills at the prescribed time and whether it was a side-effect of the medicine or the physical strain of the day in general he sagged into one corner of the Winchesters’ couch, his face pressed into a pillow as the Winchester brothers chatted and laughed and fought over the remote. 

Jo had gone home shortly after arriving, as it was her night to help her mother in the restaurant. She’d given Cas a rather longer hug than he would have thought appropriate under normal circumstances, but he was grateful for it. It was nice. 

That had left him with the brothers. He’d been worried he would need to talk Sam through his anger a bit more, but it seemed both the Winchesters were quite happy to let him sit quietly and rest while they carried on with their day. It was very peaceful, slumped in their warm silence. Sam opened a textbook and began taking neat and extensive notes while Dean flicked through the television. They ended up watching a very old medical program that appeared to take place in a war zone, Dean whistling along with the theme tune as helicopters ferried wounded soldiers into a tent camp. 

“We should figure out how to make a still, Sammy.” Dean suggested, toying with his empty beer bottle as the doctors onscreen fiddled with a piecemeal distillery in their tent. He’d finished the beer nearly an hour ago, then sat picking at the label with his thumbnail. A small pile of shredded paper was teetering precariously on his thigh as he picked more and more off. Dean had very attractive hands, Cas noted. Scarred and calloused, they were strong and sure with finely-shaped fingers and blunt, square nails. His palms were wide and warm-looking, with deep lines carved across them. His wrists were quite appealing, too. Strong, square bones pushing against the delicate skin, tremulous blue veins snaking their way along the soft underside. 

Perhaps the pain medication hadn’t been the best idea, after all. Cas’s mind was getting a little fuzzy around the edges.  

“Dean,” Sam droned, “do you know how dangerous those things are? You’d blow your arm off, day one.”

“Yeah, but free booze!” Dean argued with a grin.

“Dude, you work at a bar. You get free booze all the time.”

Dean huffed. “Ellen’s stingy.” He complained. 

Cas shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position for his bruised hip - he’d landed quite hard on his right side in the alley - but ended up stuck midway through moving with his ribs shrieking in protest. He tensed awkwardly, just managing to contain a sharp huff of pain behind his teeth so that Sam wouldn’t notice. Dean’s eyes flicked over to him, his eyebrows tightening.

“Hey Sammy, grab me that last beer from the fridge, would you?” 

“Get it yourself.” Sam sniffed, turning a page. 

Dean threw the other pillow at him. “Come on, Sammy. I’ve had a long week.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam unfolded from his chair, setting his notes carefully aside as he turned for the kitchen. 

When he was out of sight Dean leaned over to thread a supportive arm beneath Cas, avoiding his sore ribs expertly. 

“Better?” he asked quietly as Cas let his weight drop. Dean was very close, the smell of his freshly washed hair and slightly beer-stained breath sliding over Cas like a blanket. Dean had so many freckles, more than he’d thought. Damn those pills. Or perhaps he had a concussion after all.

“Yes.” He murmured. “Thank you.” He rearranged himself carefully, making use of Dean’s stable presence to shift himself into a better position and trying not to think too hard about those green eyes only a few inches away. He was in no state to hide his attraction and he’d really rather not make Dean uncomfortable. When Sam tromped back into the room with the final beer in hand Dean was already back lounging on his side of the couch. 

“You need anything, Cas?” Sam asked gently, his eyes going soft and sad. 

“No, thank you.” Cas said. “I believe your phone is ringing.” 

A tinny female voice was singing from the pocket of Sam’s coat where it was slung across the back of an armchair. _You got a fast car…_

“What is that song?” Cas asked, enjoying the smooth umber sound of her voice even through the low-quality speakers. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Tracy Chapman. Girl rock.” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know all the words.” Sam snarked, digging in his coat until he came up with his phone. He glanced at the screen and it was as if a wall rose up, his whole face clamping down into a menacing emptiness in a fraction of a second. He swiped his thumb over the receive button and held it to his ear. 

“Hello.” Castiel couldn’t ever remember hearing Sam’s voice so deep. Even as he pulled against the self-imposed restraints in his desire to pummel Raphael he hadn’t sounded this cold and angry. In his slightly drug-addled state he could almost feel Sam’s voice scraping against him like frost. 

Dean had tensed, his eyes wary. “Fuck.” He muttered, the pads of his fingers spreading as he gripped his bottle hard. 

“I have no interest in speaking on her behalf.” Sam said in a frighteningly monotone voice. “No.” A pause. “No, thank you. Goodbye.” He hung up. He let his arm drop slowly, the phone clenched in his large hand and his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he inhaled and exhaled slowly three times.

“Ruby?” Dean asked softly, and it was as if the pair had forgotten Cas was even there. 

“She asked her lawyer to try and convince me to speak for her early release.” Grated Sam in that same robotic tone. 

Dean snorted. “The fuck?” 

“He asked if I wanted to informed of the decision. Like I’m gonna be the one to fucking pick her up from juvie.” Sam let out an explosive breath, hurling his phone into the armchair. Dean flinched hard but Cas sat stock-still, fascinated. Sam was so expressive, each emotion glowing from his whole body like neon. His happiness leaked from between his teeth when he smiled, his sadness bled from beneath his eyelashes. And this anger, this _rage_ , burst from his skin like licks of flame. Cas found it oddly compelling.Sam stomped to the window and glared out at the street below. 

“She _can’t_ just expect to walk back into your life after all that _shit_ she pulled.” Dean growled. Cas couldn’t quite parse his expression on the elder Winchester’s face. There was anger, certainly, and worry. But something else was there too… fear? Was Dean frightened of this girl? Perhaps he was frightened of her influence over his brother, or that Sam’s anger towards her might lead him to make poor decisions.

“I was pulling shit right along with her, Dean.” Sam reminded him quietly. 

Dean blanched. “That bitch-“

Sam cut him off with a vicious swipe of his arm. “I’ve told you before, I made my own decisions. I made my own mistakes. She didn’t help, but Dean that was _all me._ ”

Dean growled inarticulately but didn’t argue. Castiel felt very out of place, sitting there between the two of them only knowing a sliver of the story behind this tension. After several tense minutes in which the doctors on the television frantically filled and emptied a not-very-sterile-looking operating theater, Sam let out a sigh and collapsed back into his chair. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled, and Cas wasn’t sure if Sam meant him or Dean. Dean only grunted, flicking the little shreds of paper from his thigh onto the floor. 

“It’s alright, Sam.” Cas said softly.

A knock at the door had all three of them looking up. Sam jumped up, shaking off the strained atmosphere of the last few minutes and peered through the peephole. “Gabe.” He said over his shoulder as she swung the door in. 

“Well isn’t this a cozy little pow-wow.” Grinned Gabriel, swaggering in like he owned the place. At five feet, seven and a half inches he still managed to carry himself like he was the tallest one in the room. Cas had always found that very comforting for some reason. 

Sam rolled his eyes and returned to his chair, pulling the book back onto his lap. 

“Hello, Gabriel.” Cas murmured, that same irrational fear bubbling up his throat. It was too much. He was a burden. Too much. 

Cas gritted his teeth and forced himself to meet Gabriel’s eye. Gabriel would _not_ kick him out, no matter what. He was _not_ their father. The teal and fuchsia Hawaiian shirt he was sporting should be proof enough of that. Cas wasn’t entirely sure their father even knew what the color fuchsia looked like. 

“Y’good, Cas?” Dean murmured, his face saying he could guess fairly well what was in Castiel’s mind. 

“Fine, Dean.” Cas thanked him with a warm smile. 

“Isn’t that sweet.” Gabriel cooed, flicking Sam’s hair from his eyes and staring at Dean with something very close to Sam’s “puppy face”. On Gabriel it looked more wolfish than puppy. It was quite unsettling, actually. “Deany-bear found a new baby bear to cuddle all better.”

Cas’s face flamed but Dean didn’t respond beyond a raised finger. 

Gabriel laughed. “Hope Dean didn’t smother you too much, Cassie. He’s used to babying Sam so hard it’s practically criminal.”

“Hey,” Dean said mildly. “I let him change his own diapers now.”

“Pretty soon he’ll be toilet trained and everything.” Gabe agreed with a nod.

“I hate you both.” Sam singsonged, not bothering to look up from his book. Cas peered at him but the fury was gone, his shoulders slumped comfortably back into his chair and his face softened back into its usual calm half-smile. Whatever wrath had been triggered was dormant again, lulled back into submission by Gabriel’s appearance.

“You love me, Sammy-boy and you know it.” Gabe grinned brightly, shoving Sam’s elbow off the armrest and perching there on one hip. “Nice face, Cassie.” He commented, tapping two fingers on his own cheekbone. “Some fancy needle-work there.” Cas only glared, but in truth he was grateful for Gabriel’s blasé attitude. Nothing could have convinced him more that things hadn’t changed between them. “Good thing George fired you or you’d scare the shit out of his customers. All three of them.”

Cas sucked in a breath. “George fired me?” His first job and he was _fired?_  

“Jesus, Gabriel.” Sam sighed. “Way to soften the blow.”

“What?” Gabriel demanded. “I should sugarcoat it? Turns out George is great uncle or something to one of Raphael’s pet dweebs. When I called to tell him you were in the hospital and wouldn’t be in for your shift he said he can’t have a troublemaker like you in his shop.” Gabe grinned, his eyes sparking delightedly. “Can you imagine, Cas? _You_ , a troublemaker?”

“Jeez. That sucks, Cas.” Sam frowned sympathetically. 

“And the hits just keep on coming.” Gabe continued cheerfully. “Guess who called me to tell me your insurance card would no longer be accepted? Frigging _Michael.”_ Castiel gasped, instantly regretting it when his ribs ached sharply. “That’s right.” Gabe nodded. “King of the Douchebags. Rang me up like he’d talked to me frigging yesterday. Just wanted to let me know I’d be paying for your little trip to the E.R. myself and to please destroy your old card as you were no longer a part of the family policy.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “That’s harsh.” 

Castiel blanched. He hadn’t been aware his family even knew where he was. Or cared. Although he supposed the insurance company would have informed them which hospital he had given his information at, and it wouldn’t be much of a leap from there to assume he was with Gabriel. Gabriel, who was currently scowling like he’d just been forced to eat a slug. “I was sort of hoping to make it through the next few decades without talking to that colossal asswipe. Tell me you got at least one nut-shot in on the bastards that did this.”

“No.” Cas grated, feeling a hot little surge of shame. He had no wish to harm anyone but the fact that he hadn’t managed to defend himself at all was deeply embarrassing. 

“Ah, well. There’s always next time.” Gabriel shrugged.

“I would rather there not be a next time.” Cas sighed plaintively. “It seems a very thin hope, though.”

“Come on, Cassie!” Gabriel cried, slapping Sam’s arm enthusiastically. The younger Winchester - eyes still on his book - shoved him roughly onto the floor. “Where’s that Novak bloodlust? Revenge! REVENGE!” 

With that stirring battle cry Gabriel launched himself onto Sam’s shoulder, throwing a headlock around his neck. 

“For fuck’s sake, Gabe!” Sam cried, whacking at Gabriel’s head with the textbook. It made a very satisfying _thump_ as it connected with Gabriel’s forehead. 

“Enough, you two.” Dean said, flicking his bottle cap at them. It caught Sam right in the nose and Gabriel howled with laughter. Dean winked at Cas and whispered “totally meant to do that.” 

“Of course you did, Dean.” Castiel smiled skeptically. Dean grinned.

When he’d caught his breath again, Gabriel came over to inspect Castiel a little more closely.

“How are you, kid? Really?” he asked softly. Castiel didn’t miss the twin looks of surprise the Winchesters traded at Gabriel’s solicitous tone. They probably only ever saw the mischievous, trouble-making Gabriel, what Lucifer had always called his ‘pain-in-the-ass mode’. 

“I’m fine.” Cas assured him softly, placing his hand on Gabriel’s to keep him from touching the stitches. It seemed everyone wanted to touch them.

Dean snorted. Cas shot him a glare but he forged on anyway. “He’s got some bruised ribs and the doc said to monitor him for signs of a concussion over the next twelve hours. Which would be eight hours now I guess.” He said, glancing at the clock above the TV. 

“I don’t have a job.” Cas said quietly. “I will not be able to help with groceries this month.”

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Cassie, that was _your_ idea. Not mine. I own the most successful bakery in a ten-mile radius. I think I can afford milk and bread for two.” 

Castiel glared, grinding his teeth at Gabriel’s flippancy. He didn’t understand. This wasn’t a joke. He _would_ earn his way. He would stand on his own two feet because he had made the decision to leave. He had chosen to live honestly, and to do that he needed to learn to support himself. He would not live off his brother. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean cleared his throat, motioning vaguely with his beer. “Bobby was saying he needed someone a couple days a week to organize the office for him.”

Cas blinked. “I don’t know anything about cars, Dean.” Despite that, Cas wanted the job, suddenly and desperately. It was a paycheck, certainly, a new set of skills to learn and a way to contribute to his life with Gabriel in a tangible way. Of course the fact that he would be closer to Dean was also an incentive but he let his mind skip over that for now.

Dean shrugged, his easy smile spreading across his face. “Doesn’t matter. Bobby just needs someone to look after the customers, help him with the books on his days off. That kind of thing. You up for it?” 

“Yes, Dean!” he said, sitting up straighter and letting out a sharp little cry as his ribs pulled alarmingly. Three sets of hands shot out to brace him but Dean was closest.

“Jeez, Cas, take it easy.” Dean said, automatically pressing his hand beneath Cas’s armpit for support. 

“When can I speak to Bobby about the position?” 

“Well not _now._ ” Gabriel snapped, his expression pinched. “Right now we’re going home and getting you horizontal.” 

“Why do I feel like you’ve used that line before in very different circumstances?” Sam asked. 

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows as he gently hauled Cas to his feet. “I got the move like Jagger, kiddo.”

Very gingerly, they made their way to the door, Castiel leaning heavily on his brother. Now that he’d been lying still for a bit every scrape and bruise felt fresh as he moved. His ribs howled in protest with every breath. The Winchesters followed them to the door, Dean holding out Cas’s ruined shirt. 

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas said, taking the blood-stained cotton from him. “Thank you for taking me to the hospital.” 

“No problem, Cas. I’ll ask Bobby about that job tomorrow, ok? You get some rest.”

Cas nodded and turned to Sam. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” He said. 

“Sure, Cas.”

“Please don’t think too much about Ruby.” Cas said. “I don’t know who you were when she knew you but who you are now is more important. That anger she brings is unhealthy and completely useless in the life you’ve built for yourself now.”

Sam and Dean both blinked, nearly identical in their surprise. Then Dean’s grin spread wide and Sam blushed. 

“Thanks, Cas.” muttered Sam from behind his bangs. 

“He’s like a frigging friendship guru or some shit.” Dean told Gabe, tilting his chin at Cas. “Where does he come up with this stuff?”

Gabriel sniffed as he swung the front door open. “We are the wise and wily Novaks, and we never reveal our secrets.” 

 


	11. Well This is Awkward

When Castiel hobbled into homeroom the next morning Raphael’s smug grin greeted him. He was surrounded by his usual hangers-on, but Amelia’s usual desk was empty. She had moved to the back of the classroom near the windows, just behind the desk Castiel normally took. She stared at Castiel in shock as he made his way slowly and painfully to his usual seat, deftly avoiding the leg Raphael thrust into his path. He managed not to let out a startled wheeze as the sudden movement tensed the muscles over his ribs. He hadn’t managed to sleep more than a few hours last night - it had been difficult to find a position that didn’t strain any of his various injuries - and he had a dull headache to add to his list of various discomforts as a result. As he settled in he caught most of the students staring at him, particularly at the neat line of stitches across his cheekbone. No one asked what happened. He wondered if that was because they already knew or didn’t care. 

“Looking good, Android.” Raphael laughed, spinning in his seat to face Cas. “Heard you had a rough night.” 

Cas just looked calmly back at him, for once letting his “creepy stare” work in his favor. Raphael’s smile faltered slightly but he pressed on. 

“You should be more careful where you walk.” Raphael warned him in a mock-solicitous tone. “Never know where you might run into trouble.”

It was a clumsily veiled threat and Castiel didn’t bother to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He turned his gaze out the window and wondered if the leaves changed in Kansas or just died. 

“I’m fucking talking to you, asshole.” Raphael hissed, leaning forward menacingly. “Maybe I should talk to that little faggot Alfie, instead. He seems to get all your little group’s attention. Babysitting that helpless little slug take up all your time, does it?” 

Castiel found himself holding very still, but not from fear. _This is what Sam feels,_ he thought, shocked at the swell of hot fury behind his sternum. “Are you so ineffectual that you target ‘helpless little slugs’ for fear of something that might bite back?” he grated stupidly. He should be ignoring the whole thing, Raphael’s whole idiotic power play. It meant _nothing_. And yet here he was engaging. Stupid. 

“You gonna test your teeth, weasel?” Raphael challenged. 

“I believe two of your idiotic enforcers can already attest to their sharpness.” Cas said cooly, letting his eyes slide slowly over Rigby. The bits of Rigby’s face that weren’t already an angry red flushed almost purple. “If you were less of a coward you might have found that out for yourself.” 

“Do you have a fucking clue who you’re talking to?” spat Raphael, actual globs of spittle landing on Castiel’s sleeve. It seemed ‘coward’ was the right nerve to be stroking. 

“A petty narcissist who surrounds himself with the fawning and cruel, tying them to his banner by money and incapable of conceiving of a larger world in which he is just another single, lonely soul gripping desperately to the illusion that he is in some way in control of his life.” Cas said bluntly. 

Raphael blinked like a lizard, first one eye, then the other. His entourage all held their breath, staring at Castiel like he’d grown a third arm from his chest and slapped their leader across the face with it. 

After a moment Raphael grinned, his wide square teeth flashing like a promise. “Alright, goth kid. We’ll go with your answer for now.” He said pleasantly, spinning in his seat just as Mrs. Powell came through the door. Castiel wasn’t sure if her imminent arrival had stalled Raphael’s response but either way he was glad to be through with that conversation. It was like talking to particularly vicious and undersocialized monkeys. 

He sat quietly through homeroom, wondering if he should have taken Gabriel’s advice and stayed home. Perhaps he should have taken Dean’s advice and reported the incident to the police. Now that he’d had time to calm down and realize he wasn’t in danger of losing Sam’s friendship or being kicked out of Gabriel’s home he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t. Next time he would, he decided, watching Rigby sneak glance after unsubtle glance at his stitches. It had been very strongly discouraged in his previous schools to look anywhere but the administration for assistance. If the police were contacted the administration wrestled control of the situation back from them and the complainant was punished nearly as severely as the perpetrator. But this was public school and the attack had happened off grounds. Besides which, Chuck Shurley didn’t seem to be under whatever thrall held this town prisoner to Finnerman. He was unlikely to do any favors for Raphael and his gang.

They were dismissed to their first class and Cas rose unsteadily. Along with his ribs, his hip was very sore today. A massive bruise had spread during the night, dark purple in the center with splotches of green and yellow dancing around the edges. He was on his way to “walking eggplant” status already.  

He was surprised to find Sam waiting for him just outside the door, leaning on the locker and glaring daggers at Raphael’s retreating back as he and his flunkies disappeared down the hallway. 

“Hey, Cas.” Sam grinned when he caught sight of the smaller boy. 

“Sam. What are you doing here?” 

Sam’s eyes went wide and unconvincingly innocent. “My homeroom is just a few doors that way.” He said, gesturing vaguely to the right. “I figured I’d walk with you to your first class.” 

“Is your first class also in that direction?” Cas asked skeptically. 

“Oh.” Sam valiantly tried to suppress his blush. “Yeah, it’s over that way.” 

Cas sighed. Sam was escorting him, plain and simple. A sharp pinch of anger passed quickly as he realized he probably needed Sam’s assistance today if he were to avoid getting beaten bloody again. He certainly didn’t have his usual reflexes at his disposal. “Alright.” He agreed wearily and Sam beamed. 

It happened again between first and second periods. This time it was Jo waiting for him, a big grin on her face as she linked arms with him to walk to “their” next class. The pair traded off until lunch, when Cas was left to limp to the cafeteria on his own. It was one of the safest journeys as he had to pass the office so he supposed the others felt he didn’t need an escort. He didn’t see Alfie at all, even at lunch period. 

This continued all week. Every now and then he would catch Raphael or one of his cronies glaring at them from a doorway as they walked - they really did seem to think this was a bad television drama - but it was easy to ignore them. Slowly, as he was able to walk more surely and the pain in his ribs became more and more bearable he found himself reluctant to tell them it was unnecessary. He wasn’t afraid of walking the halls alone, but he enjoyed the extra time with his friends. He learned so much about them in these short walks. He learned that Sam had always wanted a dog but his father had never allowed one growing up. He learned that Jo had missed the Winchesters desperately every time they were made to move away. She looked on them like older brothers. Sam was secretly very fond of musicals and Jo loved MMA fighting. 

On Thursday afternoon Jo told him she had been voted captain of the field hockey team along with a senior girl she was fond of. She was proud but a little afraid of the responsibility. 

“If I screw up I’m letting the whole team down.” She admitted quietly. 

“I’m sure you’ll be a very good captain.” Castiel assured her. “You wouldn’t ask anything of them you don’t demand of yourself and you’re sensitive to the needs of others.” He patted the hand she had passed around his elbow. “You’ll lead by example and that is always the most effective way.” 

She looked at him a long moment before raising onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Cas.” She smiled. 

Cas touched his cheek, trying to remember the last time someone had kissed him. Gabriel, the night he had panicked about being thrown out for his attraction to Dean. But before that? Gabriel again. A decade before. On the night he left. 

“Where is Alfie?” Cas asked out of the blue. “I haven’t seen him all week. Is he alright? He isn’t still afraid of me, is he?” 

“He’s fine.” Jo made a face but Cas couldn’t figure out what it meant. “He decided to yell at Rigby for sending you to the hospital and they got in a fight. Alfie managed to land a few good punches but they got caught fighting and they're both on detention ’til the end of the week.”

“Alfie?” Cas squeaked, shocked. 

“I know, right?” Jo scoffed. “I don’t know whether to be proud or pissed. Anyway, this is you. I’ll see you at lunch!”

On that same afternoon Sam told him Brady had indeed chosen him for the lacrosse team. 

“I’m second string.” Sam said, sounding pleased. “I won’t start in the first half of the season but if I can get back in shape and really kick ass then by mid season I can move up to starting wing.” 

“Congratulations, Sam.” Castiel smiled. “You’re very excited about the chance to prove yourself, aren’t you?” 

Sam ducked his head, hiding behind his hair. Castiel had noticed he often did this when Cas asked a personal question. He was grateful, however, that once he was safely hidden behind the flowing brown mane he would answer honestly, not shying away from Castiel’s sometime inappropriate inquiry. 

“Yeah.” Sam admitted quietly. “I just… I screwed up so bad last year. I don’t even understand how it happened sometimes. And it almost killed Dean. I mean,” he shook his head, “look, I’ll tell you about it sometime but it was a real clusterfuck.”

“You don’t have to tell me about it.” Castiel reminded him. “It’s only relevant to me in that it is part of what you carry around with you.”

“I know that.” Sam said, looking Cas in the eye. His mouth was tight and determined. “But I want to tell you. I don’t want to hide from it. I _am_ happy for the opportunity to prove myself. To Brady, to Dean, to Chuck and Jo and Ellen and Bobby and even Gabe. But mostly I’m going to prove it to myself, that I can come back fro all that crap.” 

Cas nodded. “Alright.” 

“Oh, this is my class.” Sam said, looking up at the door they’d stopped in front of, startled. “Sorry, man. I guess I got distracted. Are you good to get to yours?”

“Fine.” Cas assured him. “It’s only a few doors that way.” 

“Good. See you after.” Sam said, ducking through the door. 

“Castiel?” a soft voice cooed as he turned towards his classroom. Cas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If she apologized for _this…_

“Hello, Amelia.” He said, turning to face her with a blank expression. 

She looked vaguely sick, her eyes wide and watery behind the red shield of her hair. “I uh, I just wanted to say I broke up with Raphael.” 

Castiel wondered what that had to do with him. “Alright.” Was he supposed to congratulate her? Tell her it was a good decision? It was _her_ decision about _her_ life. What did she need his approval for? 

“I was… well, I was wondering…” she twisted a lock of hair around her fingers, one knee bent so her toe tapped a staccato rhythm on the floor behind her. He wondered if it was his tendency to stare that had her avoiding his eyes. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have a coffee at Reynard’s. Sometime. With me.” She peeked up at him from beneath her lashes. 

He sighed. “That would be nice.” He said amiably, wishing she hadn’t asked. She was a perfectly pleasant girl, but she was not a friend. She was not Jo. She was not Alfie or Sam. Amelia still made that tense whisper on his skin tighten, the pinprick of pain in his head flare to life. He’d rather not spend more time with her than absolutely necessary. Still, it would be rude to refuse. 

“Great!” she beamed. She really was remarkably pretty. “How about tonight?” 

“Alright. I will be there most of the afternoon.” Cas had already agreed to meet Jo and Sam to head there today and he doubted they would mind the addition. Well, Sam wouldn’t Jo could at least pretend to be civil for a bit. And her mood was likely to be lightened by the news that Amelia had broken free from Raphael. 

“Around four, then?” she asked, nearly vibrating with excitement. Castiel nodded, wondering why she was so keyed up about it. 

“Alright.” He nodded. She squeaked and did a little pirouette as she fled, her hair flowing out behind her. He sighed and made his way into class. 

 

****

 

That afternoon Cas waited by the front gate with Sam and Jo for Dean to arrive. Sam had said he would be joining them since he had the afternoon free before his shift at the bar. 

“He never gives up a shot at pie if he can help it.” Sam told Cas in a mock whisper. 

“Mr. Novak!” They turned to find Chuck Shurley jogging towards them, a rumpled pink tie fluttering over one shoulder. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Shurley.” Castiel said, nodding respectfully. 

“Afternoon.” He said. “I need to speak with you.” He pulled Castiel back through the gate and out of the general flow of student traffic, leaving Jo and Sam to trade worried looks.

“Castiel, my office manager received your vaccination records this morning so we’re one step closer to full enrolment. When we spoke before classes began you told me you were waiting on your social security card to complete all the paperwork. Have you gotten that yet?” 

Castiel blinked. He had been expecting some reprimand about his battered appearance. “No. I’m sorry. I requested the reissue from the government along with a photo ID but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

“And there’s no possibility of your family sending it on to you?”

Cas frowned. “No. Until Monday they didn’t even know what state I was in.” He said, touching his stitches delicately. 

“Ah.” Chuck shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this.” He motioned to Castiel’s cheek. “Did that happen on school grounds?” 

Cas shook his head. “But it was a few of my fellow students.” He said, knowing where Chuck was leading. 

“And you didn’t contact the police?” Castiel couldn’t tell from his tone if he was happy about that or not. 

“No.” He said.

Chuck sighed, scratching at his beard. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised but I do hope you know that I’m here to help you if you need it. Don’t be afraid to reach out.” His blue eyes slid over to Sam, who straightened beneath the scrutiny. “I’m much more effective if you come to me before things get out of hand.” Said Chuck.

“Thank you, Mr. Shurley. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good. Now get out of here before you get roped into extra classwork!” he chuckled as if it was a very funny joke and clapped Castiel on the shoulder, shoving him back towards his friends gently.

“What did he want?” Sam asked tentatively. 

“Did those assholes rat you out for the bathroom thing?” Jo guessed. 

“No.” Castiel assured them with a smile. “He was just asking if I had my social security card yet. I have a special enrolment since I left all my identification and records back in Connecticut.” 

“Oh.” Sam sighed, relieved. 

A familiar car rumbled up in front of them and Dean leaned out the driver’s side window. “Get in, losers. We’re going snacking!”

Sam stopped halfway off the curb, his foot actually hanging in midair as his jaw flapped open. “Dean. Did you just quote _Mean Girls_?” he demanded, sounding scandalized. 

Cas looked questioningly at Jo, who was biting her lip in an attempt to stifle a rather ugly bout of giggles. “What is _Mean Girls?_ ” he asked quietly. Jo didn’t seem able to answer. She was too busy staring at Sam’s stricken face like it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen. 

“Deal with it, Sammy boy.” Dean cried, one hand cranking his radio. _Back in black!_ Screeched what Castiel was relatively certain was a man’s voice. 

They piled in, Jo and Cas in the back and Sam in the front. 

“Hiya, Cas.” Dean said, smiling at him in the rear-view mirror. “How ya feeling?” he asked. 

“Quite well.” Cas smiled back, feeling a flush creep through his cheeks. Jo was peering at him searchingly but he ignored her. “Did you have a chance to ask Bobby about the job?” 

“No.” Dean said guiltily, “I forgot Bobby was going fishing with Rufus for the week. They have a cabin up in Montana they run to a few times year. He’s back Monday so I’ll ask him then.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel sighed, leaning back against the seat. The smell of well-kept leather enveloped him and an easy smile overtook his face. He found the lyrics of Sam’s ringtone come back to him as they sped towards the bakery. _You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere._ He really should ask Gabriel to download it for him. Perhaps Sam could give it to him. He wondered how long he would have to work at the garage to afford a new laptop. He’d left his along with his phone and the rest of his life back in his father’s house. He’d used Gabriel’s rather fancy desktop - he played video games almost continually when he wasn’t working - to check his email now and then but as he never received anything but spam he’d given that up. 

He did miss his music. 

The pulled up out front of Reynard’s and Dean spent and unreasonably long time parallel parking. When he was finally satisfied that his car was relatively safe from “douchebag parkers” he let them all out and they ambled across the street. 

As usual the place was packed but a table big enough for five was sitting covered in dirty cups and plates near the back. Castiel and Sam set about clearing it while Dean and Jo made themselves comfortable in the plush armchairs Gabriel had picked for the back tables. 

“Swanky.” Dean sighed happily, pushing his shoulders back against the soft upholstery. Cas smiled at him and led Sam back towards the bussers’ station, not missing Jo’s narrow-eyed stare. When the table was cleared Sam and Castiel took their places, Castiel snatching an extra chair from a nearby table before quite happily settling across from Dean. He had no hope of anything more - even before Gabriel’s warnings he had known Dean wouldn’t return any interest Castiel showed in him - but it was lovely to be able to watch his eloquent expressions as they moved, his green eyes flickering, his full lips shaping the words. He really was extraordinarily beautiful. 

“Saving a seat for me?” Gabriel demanded, sinking into the free chair and looking frayed around the edges. His hair was sticking out in a very odd way, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and there was a smudge of chocolate beneath his left ear. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked softly. 

“Fine.” Gabriel sighed. “

“What pie have you got today?” Dean asked eagerly, leaning forward like and excited child. 

Gabriel began rattling off flavors in a bored tone. “Cherry, apple, pumpkin, pecan, black currant, lemon creme, rhubarb, chocolate creme, caramel creme, chocolate honeycomb, hazelnut creme, honey whiskey peach,”

“The fuck?” Dean breathed as Gabriel carried on. 

“Maple bourbon creme, chocolate marscapone raspberry, coconut creme, walnut turtle, and peanut butter banana.” 

“Holy shit.” Dean said, looking stunned. “Gabe?”

“Yeah?”

“Marry me?” 

Castiel actually laughed. It had been a long time since he’d really laughed, throwing his head back and letting it roll out of him like water. That wonderful sore feeling in his stomach outweighed the strain on his ribs as he laughed and laughed and laughed. Four sets of eyes turned to him, amazed as he wiped a tear from his eye. 

“What?” he wheezed, wondering what had upset them so. 

“Dude, I’ve never heard you laugh before.” Sam said, grinning. 

“Yes you have.” Castiel said, blushing. He was sure he’d laughed in front of Sam before. 

“Not like that.”

“I’ve never heard you laugh like that.” Gabriel agreed, his smile softer than his usual feral grin. “I think that calls for free pie all around.” 

Dean stood, leaned across the table, and laid a huge, smacking kiss on Castiel’s forehead. “You frigging rock.” He said, gripping the back of Cas’s head and grinning down at him delightedly. If it were possible for a human being to spontaneously combust Castiel was pretty sure this was the litmus test. 

Jo and Sam laughed but Gabriel was uncharacteristically silent, his mouth pursed and his eyes pinched as he watched Dean retake his seat. He stood and turned, looking down at Cas for a moment with something tough and guarded in his face. Without a word he walked away.  

Luckily none of the others seemed to notice his tension. 

“So do we need the spare chair?” Dean asked, kicking at it with his boot. “Alfie coming along?” 

“Nah.” Jo sighed. “He’s still on detention?”

“What’s this now?” Dean demanded. 

“I’ll tell you later.” Sam said smoothly, shaking his bangs out of his face. 

“The extra seat is for Amelia.” Castiel informed them. “She asked if she could join us later in the afternoon.” 

“What?” Jo laughed. 

“She approached me in the hall today to inform me she’d broken up with Raphael and to ask me if she could drink coffee with me later today.” Castiel explained patiently, hoping Jo wasn’t about to get angry. 

“Wait,” Dean said, waving his hand between them. “This girl came up to you, out of the blue,” he waited until Cas nodded, “to tell you she broke up with her boyfriend,” another nod, “and then asked you if you could drink coffee together?” 

“Yes.” Castiel drawled, wondering why Dean found this so astonishing. 

“And when she asked this, did she mention the peanut gallery here, or did she say ‘you and me’?” Dean asked. 

“She asked if I would like to drink coffee with her at Reynard’s. She knows I have been coming here with Jo and Sam, I assume.”

Jo and Dean stared at him and Sam snorted, grinning lopsidedly at him. “Dude, she asked you out.” 

Cas frowned. “What?” 

“Cas, this is a date.” Dean explained, barely containing his laughter. “You brought three extra people to a date.” 

“No.” Cas shook his head, running the conversation back in his mind. “…Oh.” 

Dean roared even louder than Castiel had, nearly sliding out of his chair as he laughed and laughed. Jo went right along with him, practically shrieking as she clutched at her sides. Sam was trying desperately to look sympathetic while nearly suffocating himself with one wide palm to keep the giggles in. 

“Oh, dear.” 

Gabriel reappeared with a richly decorated pie - chocolate marscapone raspberry by the look of it - and four plates, setting the lot carefully down in the middle of the table. He produced forks from his pocket and a stack of napkins, handing all of them to Dean. 

“Try to keep it off the ceiling this time.” He demanded roughly. 

“Sweet mother and father of the tiny baby Jesus.” Dean sighed, driving a fork straight into the pie and digging out an edge. 

“You’re a frigging philistine, Winchester.” Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Hey Gabe,” Dean mumbled around an unfeasibly large mouthful. “Cas has got himself a date!” 

Gabe glanced between the two of them, something close to panic in his eyes. “Excuse me?” 

“I accidentally agreed to a date with a girl in my class.” Castiel explained quickly. “She’s coming here for coffee and I’m not sure how to explain that I misunderstood the invitation.” 

“Oh.” Gabriel said, a sly smile creeping up. “Oh you ladykiller, you.” He ruffled Cas’s hair and tweaked his ear. 

“Gabriel, this is serious.” Cas protested, shoving his hand away. “What do I do?”

“Tell her the truth.” Sam shrugged, patting his forearm consolingly. “You didn’t realize it was a date.”

“I don’t want to hurt her feelings.” Cas said. 

Sam shook his head. “Believe me, it’s nicer in the end to set it straight as soon as possible.”

“Yeah. Don’t string her along, whatever you do.” Jo agreed, taking her own forkful of pie. It seemed no one would be bothering with the plates. 

Castiel caught a flash of red hair as the doorbell chimed. “Oh dear, she’s early.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” Dean winked, shovelling another fork-load into his mouth. Cas was momentarily distracted by a stray crumb clinging to the delicate edge of Dean’s full bottom lip. A sharp elbow in his back from Gabriel drew his attention back to the matter at hand. 

“Right.” He said, taking a deep breath and standing. Amelia caught sight of him and waved, her face falling slightly as she took in the table full of people with him. He crossed the crowded room as quickly as he could, touching her elbow as she gave him a friendly hello. 

“Amelia, may I speak to you outside?” he murmured, hoping his voice sounded kind rather than foreboding. 

“Oh. Sure.” She said, allowing him to steer her back onto the sidewalk. Once they were outside he pulled her into the doorway leading to Gabriel’s apartment, sheltering them from the noise of the traffic. 

“Amelia, I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake.” He said quickly. Her smile faltered, her fingers tightening in the sleeves of the fluffy sweater she wore. “I misunderstood your invitation today. I assumed you wanted to join the group of us. It’s been explained to me that it was more likely an invitation for us to spend time together alone. A date?”

She blushed furiously and nodded, fingers flying to her hair. She twisted a lock viciously, refusing once again to look at him directly. “It’s ok. That’s ok.” She twittered. “If you don’t, um. If you don’t want to go on a date, that’s alright.”

“Amelia, you’re a very sweet girl. Perhaps if I were interested in, um…” Cas’s throat threatened to close as he came perilously close to telling her what he had only told a handful of other people in his life. 

It seemed he didn’t need to say it outright. Her gaze snapped to his face and her eyes widened minutely. “Oh. You’re gay.”

It wasn’t a question. Castiel smiled, grateful she’d caught on. “Yes.” He said. “I am. So you understand, it didn’t occur to me that you thought of me romantically.”

“Oh.” The blush receded and for the first time she smiled at him fully. Her whole body language changed in just a moment. She stood straighter, tipped her head back to look at him straight on, squared her hips towards him and stopped fiddling with her hair. It was like looking at a different person. “Oh, of course. I’m so sorry. It didn’t occur to me either. That you might be, I mean,” she laughed. It was a pretty, musical little sound. “How awkward!” 

He smiled. “You’re still welcome to join us for coffee, if you like.” 

She made a sour face. “No thanks. I don’t think Jo Harvelle likes me very much.” 

Castiel couldn’t argue with that so he just hummed. “Thank you for understanding, Amelia.” He said softly. 

“Don’t be silly.” She shrugged, smiling a bit sadly. “I mean, I’m a bit disappointed for myself but I’m glad you told me now. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, ok?”

“Alright.” Cas nodded, relieved. 

She stuck her hand out and he took it, surprised at the force of her handshake. “Friends?” she asked, a bit of that tentative persona he was used to slipping through. 

“Friends.” He agreed easily. She left, her lovely hair swinging alluringly behind her. With a relieved sigh Cas turned back to the Bakery. 

“How’d it go, Casanova?” Dean asked, looking sleepy and sated. Between the two of them he and Jo had eaten nearly two thirds of the pie already. Sam’s fork was still clean. 

“She was very kind.” He said honestly. “I told her I’d misunderstood.”

Jo sniffed. “Surprised she didn’t bitch you out.” 

“She really is much nicer than you give her credit for.” Cas scolded. 

“Well her taste is improving, I’ll give her that.” Jo said, licking her fork. 

Cas blushed and picked up his own fork. The pie was delicious, as usual, and he couldn’t hold in a tiny groan of appreciation. 

“Again with the porno sounds.” Dean laughed, flicking a balled up napkin at him. 

“They’re no worse than yours, Dean.” Sam reminded him over the rim of a coffee cup. 

They spent the rest of the afternoon picking at the remains of the pie and chatting. Dean and Sam shared stories of failed dates and girls who hadn’t succumbed to the Winchester charms. Jo even contributed one anecdote about a date who had tried to feel her up at the movies. She’d broken his nose and nearly been banned from the theater 

Cas found it surprisingly easy to visualize someone turning Dean down. Brash and flirty, he would probably seem like some sort of pickup artist in a bar situation. He imagined his approach was probably very similar to Gabriel’s, and Castiel had seen enough of that to know it was very effective with a certain kind of woman. Sam was probably more successful by dint of his open, honest nature, but that also meant he was probably less likely to attempt to secure a date in the first place. They probably ended up with about equal success rates. 

“What about you, Cas?” Dean asked, chuckling into a napkin. “Any nightmare dates?”

Cas looked down at his hands. “No. I wasn’t allowed to go on dates until I was sixteen and by then…” he shrugged. How could he explain that by then he’d realized he wasn’t interested in women and hadn’t met a man who caught his attention? Would Dean be appalled? He was sure Sam wouldn’t. Jo neither, but Dean? Would it make him uneasy? Would that fond, teasing look fade from his eyes, replaced by discomfort? Or worse, disgust? It was a possibility that kept Castiel’s mouth closed.

“So you started off on a good foot then,” Sam chuckled. “An accidental date.” 

“To Cas’s first date!” Dean cried, raising his coffee mug high. 

“This wasn’t the whiskey pie, was it?” Jo asked, clinking her mug with his. 

“I’m high on pie, sweetheart!” Dean sighed, rubbing his protruding belly. “And I gotta go to work.” He looked mournfully at the empty pie plate before downing the rest of his drink and standing. 

“See you guys later. Stay out of trouble.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Sam hummed, shaking his head as Dean wiped sticky fingers over his mouth. Dean left, his bandy legs carrying him unsteadily out to his car. Cas watched him go, still wondering. 

 

****

 

Friday morning when Castiel reached his locker he found that someone had spray-painted “FAGGOT” across it in large, angry letters. 

 


	12. Gabriel's Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little heavier in this chapter. As always, feedback is very much appreciated!

Dean stretched, throwing both arms over his head and arching his back until it popped. His ratty old Zep t-shirt was rucked up around his ribs and sunlight spilled in the open windows, warming the bare skin of his stomach deliciously. It was his first morning off in nearly three weeks and in celebration he’d decided to sleep until noon. Of course he couldn’t actually do it - he rarely slept more than five or six hours a night - but it was still awesome to just lay around being lazy in his boxers and eating frozen waffles straight from the packet. 

He was just considering whether he should have a fourth or if he felt like jerking off instead when his phone rang, the noise of it overriding the cartoons he’d been ignoring all morning. He recognized Sam’s contact photo and groaned. A call during school hours couldn’t be good. 

“What?” he demanded, his voice rough from disuse. 

“Dean.” Dean sat up, instantly on alert. He knew that tone. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“It’s Cas.” Sam said, talking quietly over the murmuring of dozens of background voices. “Something happened at school and he’s gotta get out of here. Can you come get him?” 

“Where’s Gabe?” Despite the question Dean was already up and looking for his pants. 

“He left early this morning to go look at a new industrial oven or something in Kansas City. I left him a message but Cas said he won’t be back till this afternoon.” 

“Shit.” Dean found a pair of decently clean jeans - they didn’t stand up on their own, at least - and wiggled into them one-handed. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

Sam sighed but didn’t sound very relieved. “Thanks, Dean.” 

They hung up and within minutes Dean was in the impala, speeding towards the school. When he arrived he went straight for Chuck’s office, only to find Cas sitting in a chair shaking and looking like he was about to throw up on his shoes. He didn’t seem to be hurt, at least not that Dean could see. There were no fresh cuts or bruises, his knuckles were smooth and unbroken. Probably not a fight, then. 

“Cas?” he said hesitantly, touching his shoulder gently. Cas flinched violently, curling away from his touch like it burned. “Hey, hey.” Dean dropped into a squat, forcing Castiel’s vacant blue eyes up to his. “What the fuck happened, man?” 

“Dean!” he seemed stunned to see him there. 

“Sammy didn’t tell you he called, hu?” Dean guessed. 

“I don’t know. Maybe he did.” Cas murmured, his eyes sliding away to fix on one of the ugly-ass watercolors above Mrs. J’s desk. 

“What the hell happened?” Dean winced as he heard the anger in his own voice and forced himself to take a breath. He shucked his coat and dropped it over Cas’s shoulders. It had always helped Sam calm down and it was sort of second-nature now when anyone he knew was upset or hurt. “You alright, Cas?”

“Fine.” Mumbled Cas, sounding anything but. His fingers clamped onto the coat like a lifeline as Dean straightened up. Mrs. J - the elderly office manager - was on the phone with someone but rolled her eyes as Dean shot her a questioning glance. 

“I _know_ it was them!” Dean looked at the familiar voice shrieking from behind Chuck’s closed office door. 

“Jo?” he called, craning his neck around to try and see through one of the glass walls. Yup, there was Jo, waving her arms around and shrieking at two boys who Dean knew all too well. They were Raphael’s little pet shit-heads, Kennedy and Rigby. Okay, so this wasn’t good. Sam was nowhere in sight, and Dean felt a guilty little wave of relief for that. 

“I made Sam leave.” Cas whispered into his hands as though he’d read Dean’s mind. “He had nothing to do with this and I know if he came here he would do something he would regret. I couldn’t make Jo go with him.” 

“No shit.” Dean snorted, listening to her rave. 

“They’ve already gone after him _twice_ for Raphael Finnerman.” she was shouting, pointing a damning finger at the pair of sullen teenagers avoiding Chuck’s steady gaze. 

Dean could just make out what Chuck was saying. 

“I’ve already told you, Ms. Harvelle that neither of these incidents were reported to the staff. Without proper cause I can’t search their lockers and I’m afraid two unconfirmed accounts of violence do not constitute proper cause.”

“This a _high_ school!” Jo argued, “This isn’t Law and freaking Order!”

“ _However_ ,” Chuck continued, raising his voice slightly to be heard, “the red paint staining Mr. Rigby’s wrist is definitely incriminating.” 

Rigby mumbled something unintelligible and Jo crossed her arms with a nasty smile. 

“I find that very unlikely as you are not currently enrolled in any art classes, Mr. Rigby.” Chuck said. Dean snorted. “And you, Mr. Kennedy, are already on in-school suspension for fighting with Alfie Johnston. If you were involved in this I’m afraid a full-blown suspension is unavoidable.” Chuck didn’t sound all that upset by the idea to Dean. 

“Ms. Harvelle, their lockers will be searched and if they are found to be in possession of any spray paint they will be punished accordingly. However, I think your time would be best spent in your own classes now.”

Dean watched Jo take a deep breath through her nose and he could almost hear her counting to ten in her head. 

“Yes, sir.” She said finally in an only slightly strained tone. 

“Good. You two will wait outside while I speak to Mr. Novak.” 

Kennedy and Rigby shuffled dejectedly out of the office, glaring at Castiel like he’d personally killed their puppies in front of them. Jo followed, sagging in relief when she saw Dean waiting for her. 

“What the hell happened?” Dean repeated, catching her as she threw her arms around his neck. 

“These assholes, they…” but she couldn’t continue through the tears. She sniffled into his t-shirt as he awkwardly patted her on the back. Over her shoulder Dean saw Cas shrink into an even smaller ball where he sat. 

“Looks like you’re not the only one around here who’ll do anything for a good cock now, hu Whorevelle?” 

Before Dean could figure out which of the little fucks had said it Cas was out of his seat, flying at the pair in a cloud of fists, knees and elbows. In the time it took Dean to drop Jo and turn around both of them were down and clutching at various parts of their bodies, Cas standing over them like some sort of avenging angel with Dean’s coat still miraculously around his shoulders. 

“Watch your tongue, parasite.” He growled, his voice deeper than Dean had ever heard it. Holy freaking shit. 

“Castiel!” Chuck shouted, suddenly filling the doorway. Jo stared at him, terrified but Castiel straightened, turning calmly to face him. 

“I am aware that I have just broken the no-fighting rule and that you have a zero tolerance policy on the subject.” He said in a clear, even tone. “I will accept whatever punishment is necessary. I will not, however, apologize to these vermin. They have, on more than one occasion, sexually harassed Jo and I will not stand for it anymore.” 

Chuck frowned. “I see.” He sighed. “Come in, Mr. Novak. Mrs. J, if you could make sure Kennedy and Rigby aren’t seriously injured?” 

The office manager had finished her call apparently, and she stood to help Rigby into the chair Cas had just vacated. 

“Stop whining.” She said roughly. Clearly Mrs. J knew what assholes these two were and Dean wasn’t surprised. She’d always been a sharp little tack. “Good to see you, Dean.” She said pleasantly, snapping on a latex glove and pressing a wad of tissues to Rigby’s bloodied nose. 

“Holy shit, that kid is like hurricane.” Dean breathed, surveying the damage Cas had manage to wreak in only a few seconds. He’d never seen anything like it.

That earned him a whack on the thigh. “Language, young man.” Mrs. J scolded firmly. “And you’d better hop it to class, young lady,” she told Jo, “before Chuck catches you loitering.” 

“Dean, take care of him. It was bad.” Jo said, hugging him again before she fled the office. 

“What happened?” Dean asked a third time, hoping Mrs. J would at last fill him in. 

“Someone spray-painted a horrible slur on the Novak boy’s locker this morning. Ms. Harvelle seems to think it was these two.” Mrs. J thrust a twisted tissue up Rigby’s nostril none-too-gently and moved to haul Kennedy up beside him. 

Dean squinted back through Chuck’s window to see Castiel standing ramrod straight, his eyes on the wall over Chuck’s head and his fists clenched at his sides beneath Dean’s coat. He was like a frigging soldier, standing there with his jaw set and his feet apart. Dean remembered Cas’s face going blank that first day in the Roadhouse when he told Sam his father was an intelligent man, remembered thinking that Cas might not be quite as vanilla as he looked on the outside. Well here was the proof, the thought, looking at Rigby and Kennedy where they drooped morosely in their chairs. Cas was one badass little nerd. He’d taken the pair down with a half dozen well-placed blows and hadn’t even been breathing hard by the end of it. 

When the office door opened again Cas marched straight out clutching a yellow slip of paper, his lips pressed into a thin line as he swept by his victims and out into the hall. Dean glanced at Chuck, who was shaking his head and pressing two fingers exhaustedly to his temple, before following Castiel. 

Cas didn’t look back, just strode across the parking lot to the impala and stood by the passenger door in a furious silence. Dean fumbled to unlock the car and slid into place behind the wheel, grateful when Cas didn’t slam the door too roughly. 

“I have been suspended.” Cas growled, his voice still about an octave lower than usual. 

“Oh.” Dean replied intelligently. 

“I would rather not go to Gabriel’s.”

“Sure.” Dean started the car, switching the radio off immediately. Cas probably didn’t want to hear his _Best of Styx_ cassette right now. 

It was a tense, silent drive back to the Winchester abode, and Dean tried not to sneak to many glances at his irate passenger. Cas was even angrier than when Dean had found him on the roadside, too angry to even mutter to himself, apparently. The stony silence was even more unnerving, and Dean fought the desire to crack a stupid joke and break the tension. 

When the finally arrived Cas got out of the car, gasping slightly as he straightened. His hand flew to his injured ribs and Dean sighed. 

“That little karate display tweaked something, didn’t it?” He guessed. 

“Possibly.” Castiel frowned, looking down at his ribs as if they were annoying him on purpose for their own enjoyment. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. Cas looked up at him, anger darkening his eyes for a moment before he relaxed, letting go of the tension that had been knotting his shoulders. He even cracked a smile, or his version of one. 

“Come on. I’ll grab you some ice.” Dean led him upstairs, not bothering to offer his support as Cas stomped resolutely up on his own. 

Once they were inside Dean shoved him towards an armchair and went digging in the freezer for a bag of frozen peas. He came out with green beans and the last of the waffles. Crouching in front of Cas he lifted the edge of the jacket to smack the green beans down over his ribs. Castiel yelped but moved to take the bag, his hand pressing for a moment over Dean’s. He had nice hands, Dean thought. Warm. Of course anything would be warm in comparison when you were holding frozen vegetables, Dean reminded himself stupidly. 

“You’ll get your coat wet.” Cas told him, making no move to take it off. 

Dean shrugged. “That coat’s been through hell and back.” He said dismissively. “It was my dad’s for about twenty years before I inherited it.” At Castiel’s raised eyebrows he laughed. “Not like _that_ ,” he said quickly. “He’s alive. At least, as far as I know. Just a little too caught up in his own shit to bother checking on his sons.” 

Cas stared at him, _through_ him in that weird way he had. Dean found himself just staring back. The stitches in his cheek would be coming out in a few days, just a smooth red line left of the cut beneath. The rest of his skin was smooth and unmarked, his stubble neatly shaven down. His lips were slightly chapped, paler than they should be. Dean had the bizarre urge to run his thumb across them. 

Shaking himself, he straightened, tugging the last two waffles from the box. “Want yours microwaved?” he asked, turning back toward the kitchen. 

“You’re angry with him.” Cas said quietly. Dean stopped in his tracks. “He left you. He disappointed you, didn’t he?”

Dean turned slowly, his nostrils flaring and his fist nearly crushing the waffles as he clenched it. He almost told Cas to piss off, that it was none of his frigging business, but one look at his heartbroken expression stalled the words on his tongue. “Yeah.” He said instead, gruffly. “Yeah, he did. I knew better, really, but…” he shrugged. “He’s my dad, you know?”

Cas nodded, tears flooding his eyes. Oh, shit. “I know.” He agreed in a broken little voice. Dean slid his gaze to the floor, unable to watch the kid cry. “I…” Cas shook his head. “My father was not the man I thought he was, in the end. He talked about forgiveness and tolerance, Christian kindness and casting the first stone. But he was lying. My whole life he was lying. To me and to everyone else around him. He was full of hatred. The night I left was the first time he hit me.” 

Dean looked up sharply, seeing the pain clearly in the twist of Cas’s mouth. “It was the only time he hit me.” Cas corrected with a tiny fake smile. “I told him I was not going to pretend to be something I wasn’t, that I was not going to apologize for something that would never cause any harm. He slapped me, here.” Castiel motioned to his line of stitches. “It didn’t bleed, but I remember thinking ‘He’s done it. He’s cut the last tie I will ever have to him.’ It was almost good, that feeling. Freedom. For the first time.” 

“Scary, though.” Dean said, clearing his throat. He knew exactly what Cas meant. It had taken him years to realize that the man he’d idolized since before he could remember didn’t really exist. John Winchester was broken, chasing after shadows he’d never catch hold of and too trapped in the past to even see the present. “All my life my dad’s been mourning my mom. I think when she died most of him went with her. Took me a long time to figure out that me and Sammy, we were just reminders. He never loved us half as much as he loved her ghost. When I did… it’s a scary feeling being on your own like that.”

“Yes.” Castiel agreed solemnly. “And angering.” 

Dean scoffed. “Damn straight.” 

Cas winced, pressing the bag of beans into his side more firmly. “Faggot.” He said. Dean jumped. 

“‘Scuse me?” 

“That’s what they wrote on my locker. ‘Faggot’. It’s such a ridiculous word.”

“Oh.” Dean waited for his heart-rate to drop back down to normal human levels before continuing. Of course Cas didn’t know about that. He wasn’t actually psychic no matter how blue his eyes got. No. The only two people who knew about that were Dean and John Winchester and Dean was pretty sure Cas hadn’t been talking to John. “That sucks, man.” 

“It’s accurate, I suppose.” Cas shrugged, for the first time dropping his eyes from Dean’s. Oh. Dean wasn’t letting him get away with that for a second. 

“Hey!” he said sharply, forcing his face into Cas’s line of sight. “You don’t let anyone give you shit for being gay, Cas. If you’re a good person it doesn’t matter, just like it doesn’t matter if those ass-monkeys Kennedy and Rigby are straight. They’re still ass-monkeys. Got it?” 

Cas studied him for a moment, his fingers tightening on Dean’s coat. “Thank you, Dean.” He sighed finally. 

“You were worried about telling me, weren’t you?” Dean realized, looking at the plain relief on Cas’s face. He couldn’t really blame the kid, honestly. He was about the last person who looked like the LGBTQA-friendly type. 

“I haven’t told anyone here yet, besides Gabriel.” Cas explained. “And Amelia, yesterday. Sam said to be honest, so I…” he shrugged. “Perhaps that was a mistake.” 

Dean grunted. “Yeah, well. It doesn’t bother me, ok? Promise. Oh.” A thought occurred to him suddenly. “Hey, are you into Sammy? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t swing that way. Like, ninety percent sure, at least.” 

Cas blinked, a sharp laugh bursting from his mouth. “No, Dean. I’m not attracted to Sam.” 

“Oh.” Dean  felt the awkwardness of the last fifteen minutes drop on him all at once. He shuffled from side to side, scratching at the back of his neck like a frigging moron before tossing the frozen waffle into Cas’s lap. “Here. I’m gonna make some coffee. You want some?” 

“Yes, please.”

They spent the rest of the morning watching tv in an only slightly strained silence. Cas actually fell asleep near noon. Dean smiled, watching his eyelashes twitch against his cheeks. The kid had had a hell of a morning. Dean wondered if he could have been as brave as Cas had been. If he had it right Cas had been given a ‘get straight or get out’ sort of ultimatum. He’d clearly chosen door number two. Dean had never even made it that far. John had caught him looking once, a skinny guy at a truck stop on one of their endless road trips. He’d told Dean how wrong it was to like guys, how sick. Dean had only been thirteen. He hadn’t really even understood that bisexual was a real thing, so it had been easy to shrug off that niggling little urge to look an attractive guy up and down. He liked girls. He frigging _loved_ them, as a matter of fact. So he’d just sort of shut the rest of it all off. But since John had left for good Dean had caught himself letting his eyes wander more and more. Maybe this was a part of him. Maybe it was something he was going to have to face like he’d faced so many things in the last year that he’d spent over a decade repressing.

Dean shook himself. He was getting sentimental as shit lately. If he wasn’t careful he’d grow an actual set of tits and then what would he do? Well he’d never get anything done, for one thing. 

He glanced up at the clock; an hour and a half until Sammy got home and three hours before he had to be at Ellen’s. Just enough time for a nap, he thought, glancing over at Cas’s snoozing form. And when he woke up he could shake this pitiful emotional residue and go back to being awesome, as usual. 

 

****

 

The Roadhouse was frigging packed. 

Dean barely had a second to breathe for the first four hours, let alone piss. Paige was zipping around like a humming bird on steroids, taking care of tables with the new girl while he manned bar. By the time it finally slowed down a bit he had a wad of cash in his pocket in tips and he was aching from head to food. There was also a new ass planted in one of his barstools. 

Gabriel. 

His hair was a tangled cloud and his face looked even sharper than usual. From the looks of it he’d already had a few. When he caught Dean’s eye he nearly crawled over the bar to say hello. 

“Tell me you didn’t drive here like this.” Dean groaned, dodging a hug. 

“Nah.” Gabriel scoffed, waving a hand through his own boozey breath. “Took a cab. Drank myself out of house and home, Winchester. Don’t have any rum left for the rum cake in the morning.” 

“Well, at least you have that bit of sense left.” Dean allowed. “What are you drinking?”

“‘Drink your wine with a merry heart’, Dean-o!” he crowed, banging his fist on the bar. A few of the other customers eyed him warily but Dean smiled at them and they went back to their burgers. “Ecclesiastes 9:7.”

“You’re quoting bible verses now?” Dean laughed, pouring a glass of the house red and setting it in front of Gabriel.

Gabe downed the whole thing in one go, his face pinching in distaste. “Ugh. I hate wine.” He complained. “Give me something sweet.” 

Dean chuckled, mixing him a quick dark and stormy instead. “There you go, champ.” 

Gabe took a sip and squealed delightedly. “To your health, Winchester.” He declared grandly, raising his glass and nearly sloshing it all over himself. Dean set about tidying the bar while Gabriel set to drinking himself into oblivion. 

By the time he was ready for a third drink his smile had disappeared, his hair hanging lank into misty eyes.

“Faggot.” He said loudly out of the blue. The woman on the stool next to him turned to glare but Gabe continued, unfazed. “That’s what they wrote on his locker. ‘Faggot’. Like this is the nineteen-fucking-fifties. And I wasn't there.”

Dean shushed him and handed him a napkin to deal with the spittle all over his chin. “Yeah, he told me. If it’s any consolation he beat the ever-loving crap out of them without even breaking a sweat.” 

Gabriel’s smile was nothing short of vicious. He sipped quietly at his drink for another few minutes before he spoke up again. 

“Do you know what I would have said to him?” Gabriel asked, his knuckles white around his glass.

“What?” Dean asked. He wasn’t sure what Gabe was talking about now but he was clearly riled up. Dean sort of understood. If someone had done this to Sammy Dean would have been _raging._ Even so, Dean had only seen Gabe this serious once, maybe twice before and frankly it was a little chilling. He looked about ready to bust someone’s head open with his bare hands and Dean wasn’t sure he could stop him if it came to that. Both Novaks seemed to have that ‘looks totally harmless on the outside, fucking scary underneath’ thing going for them. Dean wondered if the whole family was like that.

“I knew, of course. I knew since he was four years old.” Gabe continued nonsensically. “He was the cutest fucking kid, man.” So they were still talking about Cas. Alright.

“What did you know?”

“That he batted for the other team.” Gabe shrugged and Dean blinked. Oh, right. This was a bit deep for his pay-grade. Bartenders got this kind of thing now and then, the whole “found out my son/brother/uncle/dad is gay thing, but Dean hadn’t really ever gotten it from someone he actually knew. It was way more uncomfortable, he noticed, especially since he’d already hashed it all out with Cas a few hours ago. With Cas he’d sort of dropped his guard more than he’d meant to. But rule number one of being friends with Gabe Novak: you didn’t drop your guard. Ever. 

“It wasn’t like he pranced around in extra-light loafers or anything, singing show tunes and kissing boys on the playground.” Gabriel laughed mirthlessly. “Just the way he would look at people. The things he said, sometimes. He knew who he was then and so did I.”

“Sure.” Dean nodded, wishing Paige would get her ass out here and take over. He was no good with this life-changing info stuff.

“You’re squirming, Dean-o.” Gabe accused, slapping his hand on the bar. “You got a problem with my little bro being gay?” he rose aggressively from his stool and leaned forward.

Dean held up his hands. “No, man. You know I don’t give a shit who screws who.”

“Damn straight.” Gabe snickered at his own pun and downed the rest of his drink, motioning for another immediately. Dean obliged, hoping it would shut him up for a minute. No such luck. “Of course you don’t. Who does, in this day and age? I’ll tell you who. Eli holier-than-thou Novak, that’s who.”

“That your dad?” Dean guessed. He couldn’t remember either of the Novak brothers ever saying the full name before. 

“Not that he ever acted like it, but yeah.” Gabe sneered. “And do you know what that fucker said? What he said to Cas when the kid finally got up the guts to come out?” Dean shook his head and Gabriel made an ugly noise in the back of his throat. “Neither do I.” he admitted bitterly. “I wasn’t there. Cassie won’t even talk about it. But whatever it was it was enough to send the kid out into the pouring rain with a backpack full of clothes, his passport and twelve bucks in change. He didn’t have a plan or a place to go or a fucking cent more than that twelve bucks in the whole world.”

Dean sucked in a breath. He hadn’t realized that when Cas said he cut ties he meant right then and there. No wonder Cas never talked about his family. Bunch of dicks.

“So after four years of straight silence I get an email at three a.m. (thank fuck I was awake) that he’s at the Hartford bus station and could I please advise him on the best course of action? Like I was his fucking financial planner.”

“Jeez.” Dean breathed, leaning on his elbows. “That blows, man.”

“No shit.” Gabe barked a hollow laugh. “Do you know what I would have said to him? I had it all planned out. From when he was four fucking years old, I knew what I would say when the day came.”

“What were you going to say?” Dean asked softly.

“I was going to say ‘Castiel, I love you. And I expect the same things from you I always have. Find someone you can love, who loves you like crazy right back. Someone you can respect, and expect respect from. Find someone who curls your toes and blows your hair back, man. That’s all that matters and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And Castiel, I expect you try your absolute damnedest to be happy.’” His voice cracked and he dropped his chin with a strangled cry. “When he trusted me enough to talk to me about it that’s what I was going to say to him. Pretty good, right?” he cocked a smile. 

Dean nodded. “Sounds perfect, man.” He said softly, hoping Gabe was too drunk to catch the tears welling in his eyes. 

“But I didn’t say that.” Gabe hissed. He shoved his fist into his eye, sharp with anger. “Because I wasn’t fucking _there_. Instead he got some bullshit about the Word of God and why he wasn’t fucking good enough. But you know what? Castiel is fucking _good_.” He bared his teeth in fierce pride. “He’s the best of us. Always was. Michael is Dad’s soulless little automaton, just point him in a direction and watch him go. Lucifer is enough of a dick to live up to his name, and I’ve been a selfish coward since before I can remember. Anna’s alright but even she couldn’t crawl out from under Dad’s thumb far enough to have a goddamn life of her own. But Castiel…” he banged his fist on the bar again. “He was always good. He’s honest and kind and smart and brave and stupidly optimistic and always just exactly what he is.”

Dean put down another drink without prompting and poured one for himself. He needed it. 

“He doesn’t make the excuses I make, you know? ‘Boo hoo, my dad’s a bastard. Boo hoo, my brothers are assholes. Boo hoo, mom died.’” Dean flinched at that one. Gabe caught it and grinned viciously. “You know what I’m talking about, right, Dean-o?” he jabbed. If the guy weren’t sauced and weepy Dean probably would have hit him. As it was he let it go.

“Cas doesn’t linger.” Gabriel dragged his hand through his hair. “He doesn’t fucking wallow. He dusts himself off, takes his twelve bucks, and moves the fuck on.” A fat tear slid down Gabe’s nose, dangling from the tip before plonking into his drink. “He’s the best of us. And he deserved more than that.”

“Well,” Dean sighed, hoping Gabe wouldn’t remember how sappy he was about to get in the morning. “So you fucked that up by taking your own way out ten years ago. Cas knows why you left, right?”

Gabe shook his head. “I don’t know. Part of it, maybe.”

“Well you’re both here now. You’ve got the chance to show him how it should have been, right?” Dean had been hanging with Sammy too much again. He was getting that Hallmark Channel lilt in his voice.

Gabe snorted. “Yeah. If I can stop wallowing in guilt long enough for that.” He chugged the rest of his dark and stormy.

“Go home, man.” Dean advised, gently prying the glass from his hand. “Get some sleep. I’ll drive Cas over after my shift. He’s having some Sammy-time right now, so he’ll be fine.”

“Best thing for him.” Gabe agreed, then stopped, giving Dean a peculiar look. “Well, second best.” He corrected, barking a sharp laugh. 

“What’s that mean?” Dean demanded. 

“A _boy_ friend, Dean-o. That’s what the kid needs. A little action to counteract all this reaction.” Gabe chuckled, seemingly returned to his usual cheerful self. Dean came around the bar to walk him out and help him flag down a cab. 

This time he couldn’t avoid a hug as Gabe wrapped himself around Dean like a limpet. “Little brothers, man.” He drawled into the side of Dean’s neck. “They’ll getcha right in the feels, every time.” 

 

****

 

When Dean finally made it home that night Sam and Cas were snuggled up in their separate armchairs watching Dirty Dancing. Cas looked perfectly content, as if today hadn’t even happened. Sammy-time had worked its magic. Sam looked happy too, in fact he was actually humming along to the theme song. 

“Ok, Cas,” Dean said with a grin, “So maybe I’m eighty-five percent sure.” 


	13. I Was Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I know it's been a few fairly heavy chapters in a row here. I'm hoping to get a bit fluffier before too much more sadness (I hate relentlessly depressing fics with no sunny spots) but I'm afraid it's not over yet. This is turning out to be a much, much longer piece than I originally thought and there's so much more I want to do with it, so thank you for sticking with me.  
> Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Cas awoke with the late afternoon sun glowing off the back wall of the Winchesters’ living room, Dean’s coat still draped comfortingly around his shoulders. Dean was sprawled facedown across his makeshift bed, one leg tangled in the blanket, one hand dangling out in midair and his face smashed into the pillow. His boots were in a heap on the floor and he’d somehow worked one sock halfway off, exposing a soft pink heel. Gold eyelashes twitched delicately on his freckled cheek. He looked very young like this. 

Castiel stole a few moments to just enjoy the beauty of him before the rattling of dishes alerted him to someone else’s presence in the apartment. The dark, curling scent of coffee greeted him as he struggled to sit up straighter, wincing as his ribs twitched a complaint. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Sam murmured, keeping one mug in hand and passing the other to Cas. “It’s got one sugar, I hope that’s ok.” 

Cas was surprised Sam had remembered how he ordered his coffee. Gripping the warm ceramic carefully in both hands he studied his friend’s face. Something was not right. Sam’s eyes were perfectly relaxed, his shoulders held carelessly loose as he padded softly over to the opposite chair. But something in the way he held his jaw, the tension of his lips, spoke to his unease. 

“Are you alright?” Cas asked softly, sparing a glance for Dean as he whined and rolled closer into the seam of the futon. 

“Fine.” Sam smiled, settling down in his seat with his mug on the armrest. Cas didn’t believe him. He’d been nearly frightening when he’d seen Cas’s injuries on Monday, and this morning Cas had actually watched his heart break when he’d seen the word scrawled across Cas’s locker. Before he could press the subject Sam lifted one long leg and slammed his foot down on the end of the futon, making the whole thing jump. 

Dean went from face-down in a pillow to half-crouched and battle-ready in under a second. His green eyes were sharp and focused, his hands held defensively at chest level as he scanned the room. It wasn’t the comical reaction of a startled civilian. This was bone-deep. He was a soldier on alert, gunpowder searching for a spark. 

Cas was quite sure he used to know how to breathe. 

When he registered it was only Sam and Cas in the room Dean relaxed, sinking back onto the futon and rubbing his chin with one hand. 

“Asshole.” He muttered, running fingers through his disheveled hair. Snickering, Sam held out the other mug of coffee and Dean took it, downing half in one gulp. 

“Hiya, Sammy.” Dean grated when he’d brought the cup down, his voice deep and hoarse with sleep. 

That was really not helping Cas’s not-breathing problem. At all. 

“Hey.” Sam smiled, and it was more genuine this time. His affection for his brother couldn’t be dimmed by whatever it was that was eating at him. “Your shift’s in a half hour. I let you two sleep as long as I could.”

“Thanks.” Dean sighed, sucking down the rest of his coffee. “I guess I’d better get changed and get out of here then.” 

Cas drank his coffee, something he’d quickly come to enjoy in his time with Gabriel. Sam sat quietly, watching Cas with a difficult expression while Dean wandered around, changing into fresh clothes and gathering up his wallet and keys. 

“Alright. I’m outta here. Cas, you want to hang here with Sammy or should I give you a ride home?”

“I’m fine here, thank you, Dean.” Cas said warmly, smiling to show that he was indeed well-recovered from the shock of this morning. 

“Cool. See you guys.” 

Sam half-waved as Dean shut the door, leaving him and Cas in silence. Cas sipped his coffee, patiently waiting for Sam to work up to whatever he wanted to say. It didn’t take long. 

“You know, I don’t care if you’re gay.” 

Cas blinked. No mincing words, then. “Alright.” He nodded. 

“Neither does Jo. Or Alfie.” Sam continued. “So don’t worry about us, ok?” 

Cas nodded. “I never thought any of you would judge me harshly for my sexual preference.” He said, looking Sam in the eye so that he would see he was speaking truthfully. “I had some concerns about Dean but he proved them unfounded after he picked me up this morning.”

Sam blinked. “So you are gay? It wasn’t just a random taunt?” 

Cas smiled sadly. “I am gay.” He confirmed. “I made the mistake of telling Amelia yesterday to explain why I hadn’t recognized her interest in me for what it was. I assume she told the wrong person and it got back to Raphael.” 

“What an ass.” Sam growled, then glanced back to Cas carefully. “Is… is that the big fallout between you and your family?”

Cas sighed, tapping his forefinger on his mug. “Yes.” He admitted sadly. 

“Look, man, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want.” Sam back-pedalled. “I know it’s a sore spot and everything.” 

Cas shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I haven’t really told anyone. Not even Gabriel knows the whole story. But this morning…” he sighed again, leaning back against the cushion. “I was upset. It just sort of spilled out. Poor Dean.” He smiled slightly. “He took it rather well but I’m afraid I made him uncomfortable.”

Sam snorted. “He’s emotionally constipated so I’m not really surprised. Do you _want_ to talk about it? Cause if you don’t you can just tell me to mind my own business and I’ll drop it. I promise. But if you _do_ , I’m all ears, man.” Sincerity shone in Sam’s hazel eyes as he leaned forward. 

Cas thought for a moment. He’d told Dean some of what he’d decided to hide from Gabriel, sure that it would upset him beyond all sense. He knew Gabriel felt guilty for leaving him, though why, he wasn’t entirely sure. He couldn’t have taken Castiel with him at that age, even if he’d wanted to go. And if Gabriel had stayed he would have been miserable, forced into their father’s world of money and power and restrictions. It was a mould Gabriel was born to break, and one Castiel would never have asked him to force himself into for any reason. 

“Gabriel and our father never saw eye-to-eye.” He said aloud. It was as good a place to start as any, really. “He was always different, more full of life than the rest of my siblings put together. Several times over, in fact. They saw life as a ladder, a straight path to a single destination and any deviation was inconceivable.”

Sam sat perfectly still, his eyes wide as he listened. Cas smiled. “Gabriel sees it as a banquet, full of delight and possibility whichever way you turn, if only you can think to look for it. He told me that when I was six years old. I’ve never forgotten it.” 

He sighed, tipping his head back to watch the light reflecting off his coffee dance across the ceiling. “We were raised very religious. We went to church several times a week and had the priest over once a month for dinner. My father never raised his voice, but we all knew he was not to be questioned. His power in our family was absolute. My oldest brother, Michael, never saw anything wrong with that. He obeyed every word our father spoke as if it were gospel. When father told him to change schools he never protested, no matter what friends he’d made. When it came time for college Father chose for him and he went without complaint. He graduated and was given a job at a financial corporation by one of father’s friends, engaged to his daughter within six months. They’ve been married for years, though I’m sure he doesn’t love her. I have two nieces.” He blinked at the heartbreaking realization that he would probably never see Judith and Sarah again.

“Lucifer followed much the same path, though I think he found it more difficult than Michael did. He is a very successful lawyer employed by the same company as Michael. He has never married, but I don’t know if that’s because Father never chose a wife or not. Our father was more indulgent with him, allowing him some choice over which school he would attend - as long as it was a top institution. Still, he didn’t say a word against our father’s decision that he should study law. Anna is the same, married to a doctor and sent down the track Gabriel was to have had.

“Gabriel was in high school when our father began to speak about his career with the church, as though it were already decided upon. I suppose in his mind it was.” Castiel smiled, his lips stretching dry against his teeth. “Can you imagine Gabriel in the church?”

Sam shook his head, too absorbed to even grin.

“He wouldn’t have been a priest, of course, but an administrator, like our father. I remember the day he left. He was sixteen. It was near Christmas, Gabriel and I had been passing out socks to the homeless as we did every few weeks. It was one of my favorite church duties. They were always so happy to receive them.” He shook his head to clear the memory. “When we came home Father told him he had spoken to an old friend at the University of Notre Dame. It was where our father received his theology degree and he told Gabriel he would apply there when the time came. Father said he would definitely be accepted. Gabriel refused, flat out to even apply. I was too young to understand but I remember how angry he was. The night he left, there was so much shouting.” A shudder swept unbidden across his skin at the memory. “None of us ever shouted.” He explained. “It was startling, frightening. Our father is a very imposing man, but I remember being more afraid of Gabriel that night than I had ever been of Father. He was incandescent.” 

Castiel realized he was crying again when a tear splashed off his collar. Sam clasped his hands in front of him, staring down at his knuckles. 

“He told my father that he wouldn’t be another tin soldier like Michael and Lucifer, that he would choose his own life. Before he left he came to find me. I was hiding in the upstairs washroom, in the bathtub. Gabriel crawled in with me, shoes and everything.” He laughed at the memory of Gabriel’s brown leather shoes against the taps, the warmth of Gabriel’s arms around him and his lips at his temple. “He told me he loved me, but he had to get out of Father’s house. He said that he would always be there if I needed him, and that he hoped I could forgive him for leaving. He told me not to let my heart harden. I didn’t understand…”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Sam murmured, his eyes nearly as watery as Cas’s. 

Cas shook his head, rubbing his knuckles against his knee. “It was different after he left. He brought light and laughter into our house. When he was gone it was quiet, oppressive. I always thought Father was a good man. He talked about virtue, charity, forgiveness. He was a pious man, devoted to his work and to the church, but not affectionate in the way Gabriel had been. I always assumed he just had a different way of showing his love. I thought he did the things he did because he wanted what was best for me, for me to be happy. He chose the paths he did for my siblings because he was sure they were the best ones for them. Michael and Lucifer didn’t rebel because they were happy.” He laughed bitterly at the thought. “Looking back I don’t think I understood what happy people even looked like. We never hugged or laughed together, I can barely remember smiling around my father. But Gabriel was different. He made me laugh, he played his pranks. Father’s rule wasn’t the same for him. It was oppressive. It suffocated him, suffocated his heart. It was easy to forgive Gabriel when I knew how unhappy being in our home made him.”

Sam blew out a breath, standing to go refill Cas’s coffee cup and pour one for himself. When he was settled back in his chair Cas continued. 

“I always knew I was homosexual.” He explained, grateful when Sam didn’t even bat an eye. “It was always very clear to me. I wasn’t repulsed by women, but men were much more appealing, more beautiful. When I pictured myself grown up and married it was to a man.” He shrugged. “I never really thought much of it. In the way of a child I assumed what was obvious to me was obvious to everyone else, too. I assumed my family knew. It never even occurred to me I might need to tell anyone.

“I knew that some of the members of our congregation thought it was a sin against God, but I couldn’t see how it could be. The passages in the bible about it were unclear at best and very few. I wasn’t harming anyone, wasn’t really even inclined to act on my preferences at the time, so how could it be such a vile sin? I was convinced they had simply read the text wrong. Father never treated me any differently than the other children, so it couldn’t be so terrible. Then, last fall we got a new priest. He was young, more progressive than Father Lane. Father Hayden preached about tolerance and acceptance more than judgement day.” Cas tried to remember to the face of the man who had been the catalyst of such a major shift in his life, but found he could only pull together the vaguest picture in his mind. He’d had dark hair and a kind smile, and that was all he could recall. 

“My father disliked him right away, not surprising with how much he deviated from Father Lane’s masses. Then, in April, a young woman in our congregation killed herself.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. 

“I didn’t know her well.” Cas explained sadly. “She was much older than me, in her late twenties, I think. She was a lesbian. She had fallen in love with another young woman and been shunned by her family. In the note she left her family she said she couldn’t reconcile her faith with her sexuality. From what I understand it was one of the factors that contributed most highly to her taking her own life. Father Hayden’s eulogy was very moving, and I remember thinking how lucky I was, that my family didn’t hold the same prejudices some of our friends did.” He shook his head, chuckling humorlessly. “I was so proud, secure in the knowledge that they loved me and nothing would change that. 

“I was naive, of course. A few days later, during family dinner Michael began talking about how disgraceful it was that Father Hayden hadn’t cautioned the younger members of the church against the evils of homosexuality. I was shocked. I couldn’t understand how… why…”

He paused, reigning in the wild flood of anger and disappointment that threatened to overwhelm him. Sam waited patiently, just watching as Cas got himself back under control. 

“I was sure our father would correct him, chastize him for his hateful attitude. I was sure he would say that it made no difference as long as the person tried to be a good christian. I was _sure._ ” He took a sip of his too-hot coffee, letting it burn its way down his throat in a painful streak. “But he didn’t. Instead he said ‘she has her reward now in Hell’.” 

“Oh, Cas.” Sam sighed, heartbroken. He sounded exactly as shocked as Cas had felt. 

“It was like I’d been dipped in cold water.” He recalled. “Before I could think I’d spoken. I asked him how he could say such a thing. I wasn’t supposed to speak until I was spoken to and they all seemed surprised that I had. ‘Homosexuality is evil’ he said, like it was a fact. ‘All those who defy the will of God will suffer damnation.’ I was so… hurt. Not for myself. I knew I wasn’t evil. I was hurt that my own father could be so _wrong_. He was so utterly, completely wrong. It was shocking, terrifying. And sad.

“‘But, I’m homosexual.’ I said.” Cas laughed again and it crackled out of his throat like radio static. “I still thought he’d known, you see. I remember thinking he must have an explanation, some excuse for why _my_ homosexuality didn’t matter, didn’t count. He stood, walked around the table, standing over me. I was sure he was going to tell me it was alright, that he still loved me. We were family. He was supposed to love me the way Gabriel did, completely and unreservedly. Instead, he hit me.”

Sam gasped. 

Cas touched his cheek, the stitches that would soon be removed. “I’d never been hit before, not by anyone in my family. I’d been beaten up a few times at school, struck in practice by opponents. There’s something very different about your own father’s hand, I discovered. And in that moment, looking up at the disgust and anger in his face I realized that we would never… that I could never forgive him for that. He was _wrong_ and I would never believe God hated me for what he’d made me to be. 

“Father told me I was never to say such a wicked thing in his house again, that I was to forget I’ve ever said it at all. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t wicked. I wanted to tell him I would not forget, that I couldn’t just erase that part of myself for his sake. I wanted to tell him that my sexual preference didn’t cancel out my desire to serve God, to be a good person and help others wherever I could. But I could see in his face, and the faces of my siblings, that it didn’t matter. It would never matter. 

“I asked to be excused, but I didn’t wait for him to say yes. I stood up, went to my bedroom, packed as many clothes as would fit into my backpack, took what money I had and my passport, and went back downstairs. They were all still sitting there, I think they were slightly shocked I’d dared to move. Father had taken his place at the head of the table again. He wouldn’t even look at me. He just kept cutting his chicken into perfect portions. I stood there for a moment, between the dining room and the foyer, Michael, Lucifer and Anna all staring at me like I was someone else. It felt like I should say something to mark the end of our relationship, to express my disappointment and anger, but I couldn’t think of a single thing. So I just left. They all watched me walk out, no one even said goodbye.”

He dragged a hand over his face, wrung out with remembering how much it had hurt to realize not one of them felt differently from their father, that they were all just going to let him walk out. “I didn’t have any friends and couldn’t think of anyone we knew who wouldn’t send me straight back to Father. I ended up at the bus station. It was the only place I could think to go that was open and dry. It was raining, appropriately.” He smiled. 

“Jesus.” Sam breathed, slumping back in his chair as Cas sipped his rapidly cooling coffee. “What did you do?”

Cas shrugged. “I hadn’t spoken to Gabriel since my father found out that I still had his email in the sixth grade. He’d forbidden me contacting him, saying that Gabriel had deserted the family and needed to learn to respect the fifth commandment. But I still remembered the address and there was a free computer terminal in the station. I sent him an email asking for advice. He’d left when he was even younger than I was, and I hoped he would know what I should do next. I didn't know if he'd even want to speak to me after so long. He immediately sent back that he’d purchased a bus ticket to Kansas City in my name and that he would be waiting at the station to pick me up. He signed it ‘Love, Gabriel’. I started crying right there in the bus station.” 

“No wonder you talk about him the way you do.” Sam smiled sadly, echoing Cas’s words from the Roadhouse. 

“He rescued me when I was lost.” Cas agreed. Wiping the tears from his cheeks. “He accepted me for who I was, without judgement or question. He has constantly reassured me when the fear of rejection is overwhelming. It had never occurred to me to fear others’ reactions like that. I think it was all the more painful for being unexpected. Now I am afraid to let people know, and I hate it. It seems so dishonest.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Sam said earnestly. “I can’t imagine how miserable that was. But I’m glad you had Gabe. I want you to know I agree with you. Trying hard to be a good person is what’s important. Hell, if it isn’t then I’m definitely screwed.” He laughed roughly. “I know it must have been scary as hell, but I’m glad you’re here now.”

Cas smiled at him, a real one that bloomed from somewhere warm and content. He had never expected to end up here, was sure even a year ago that his life would be shaped for him, just like Michael’s, Lucifer’s, and Anna’s by a father that wanted what was best for him. But however heartbreaking it had been to lose that certainty, in it’s place had grown a new one: the certainty that he was right to stand up for his belief in himself and in God’s will. 

“Thank you, Sam. I am too.” Said Cas, and it was true. 

They sat in silence and drank their coffee, Sam’s gaze turning distant. Castiel didn’t mind, found that he wasn’t even self-conscious about all he’d revealed. He was grateful Sam had listened, that he had finally been able to purge the whole story from his system. 

“Look, Cas, I want to tell you about Ruby and all that crap, but I think maybe that would just be emotional overload for both of us. It can wait until a better day. Right now I think the best thing for us is to put in a movie, make a couple sandwiches, and pretend this morning never happened. The patented Dean Winchester method. Sound good?”

“That sounds wonderful, Sam.”

Sam chose a musical, laughing that he never got to watch them when Dean was around. It was called “Moulin Rouge” and Cas found the colors mesmerizing. After that they watched Dirty Dancing, Sam singing along enthusiastically to some of the songs. Jonny was just telling Baby’s father that nobody put her in a corner when Dean came home. 

One look between the screen and Sam’s careless expression and Dean grinned wide. “Ok, Cas,” he said, kicking off his shoes, “So maybe I’m eighty-five percent sure.” 

 


	14. Looking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little side-note, but on the day I publish this chapter I am one hit away from 1000. I know for most seasoned contributors this seems like a tiny little blip in the internet bucket but as this is my first fic I'm still young and naive enough to find it just a bit fantastic. Thanks so much to all of you kind enough to leave feedback. I hope you continue to stick with me as this story rolls out!

“Come on, Bobby.” Dean wheedled on Monday morning, leaning over Bobby’s desk and nearly toppling the massive stack of invoices wobbling on the edge. “You’re always complaining about what a mess this place is.”

“If you idjits would clean up after yourselves once in a blue moon I wouldn’t be having that problem, would I?” Demanded Bobby gruffly. The crusty old mechanic was already covered in a thin sheen of motor oil and rust, his cap pulled down over his sweaty forehead. 

Dean snorted. “Like that’s ever going to happen.” He laughed. “If you hire him he can clean up and make coffee and stuff. He might even put your files in actual filing cabinets instead of whatever the hell you call this system of random piles.” He gestured around at the litter of receipts and shipping invoices, manuals and diagrams that covered every surface of the tiny, windowless office of Singer Auto. The six-bay garage out front was expansive, with three pits and a wide parking lot in the back, but Bobby’s office was like the den of some small, burrowing animal, all lined with whatever crap he thought he might need to survive the winter. Dean was sure that one day they’d find Bobby trapped in here under a pile of chevy posters and playboys. They really could use Cas’s help. The room wasn’t really even big enough for the desk Bobby had somehow jammed into it, let alone the three enormous file cabinets that lined the back wall. They’d been overflowing since before Dean could remember. Bobby always seemed to know exactly where every scrap of paper in the building was, but as they’d discovered last week that magical ability didn’t do anyone an ounce of good if the old man himself wasn’t there at the time. At the very least it was a fire hazard. 

“Look, the kid’s tough as nails, I promise.” Dean pressed in his most reasonable, “what could go wrong?” tone.“He needs a job. He won’t give you any trouble.”

“ _Gabriel’s_ brother won’t give me any trouble? Do you even hear yourself, boy?” 

Dean rolled his eyes and peeled his jumpsuit from his shoulders, trying it around his waist by the arms. October was throwing one last day of high summer at them and he was sweating his ass off just standing here. The heat always made Bobby grumpy so maybe it would have been better to let this conversation wait but he’d promised Cas he’d talk to the old boot today. “I _told_ you, Bobby, they’re nothing alike. Cas can even get Gabe to behave himself!” Bobby cocked a skeptical eyebrow and Dean held up his right hand. “Scout’s honor. The other night when we showed up Gabe was drunk as a skunk and throwing glitter bombs at people in the street.”

“Glitter bombs?” Bobby repeated incredulously. “Why the hell was he doing that?”

Dean winced. “Long story. It was a rough night for everyone. Point is, one look from Cas and Gabe went right upstairs and into bed without even a smart-ass comment. The kid is ballsy as hell.” It had actually been nearly as impressive as Cas’s little kung-fu moment in Chuck’s office, in its own way. 

“Just what I need around here.” Bobby yawned sarcastically. “Another too-big-for-his-britches moron trying to call the shots.” 

“Come on, Bobby, please?” Dean pressed his hands together in mock prayer. He tried out the closest thing he could muster to Sammy’s puppy dog eyes, sure that it wasn’t even half as effective on his face. “The kid’s had a rough month. He’s Sammy’s friend and he’s helping him keep on the straight and narrow. Just give him a shot?” 

It was Bobby’s turn to roll his eyes, shoving his cap up so he could scratch at his balding pate. “Fine. We’ll start him at ten hours a week and see how it goes. If he’s not a complete pain in my ass we’ll talk about making it permanent but _no promises_. Satisfied?” 

Dean whooped and punched his fist in the air. 

“Yeah, yeah. Make sure he’s here at 10am sharp tomorrow and your sorry ass is showing him around, got me?” 

Dean clapped Bobby sharply on the shoulder. “Awesome!” he beamed. 

Bobby shoved at him, his beard bristling as he scowled. “Now will you get the hell out of here? Ellen will have my balls in a deep fryer if you’re late for your shift.” 

“On my way, Bobby.” Dean grinned, resisting the urge to make a crude joke about Bobby’s not-so-subtle old man crush on Jo’s mom. He’s pushed his luck pretty far today already. 

Calling a goodbye to Benny he hustled out to his car, shaking out of the rest of his jumpsuit so as not to get oil all over the leather before he slid behind the wheel. He had a good hour before he needed to be at the Roadhouse and he didn’t even need a shower today, which was a bit of a freaking miracle. He sped towards Reynard’s, a weird fiddly feeling in his stomach at the thought of telling Cas about his new job. Excitement, probably. The kid could use some good freaking news, with the month he’d been having. He’d spent most of the weekend in Dean’s apartment with Sammy, nerding out with him over some book Sam was reading for AP English. Cas had read it a bunch before - once in the original French, apparently, which apart from being the most hoity-toity thing Dean had ever heard in his life was freaking impressive. They’d watched two different movie versions of it - they’d both been so boring Dean still couldn’t remember the name of the damn book - and then compared notes on which version they thought was better. Dean had been asked to break the tie after about the eleventh go-around. He’d voted with Cas and the older version, mostly because the actress playing the lead chick had been way hotter in that one. Of course Sam had pointed that out immediately but Cas said Dean’s vote still counted. 

It was no surprise that Reynard’s was full when he got there and it took Dean a few minutes to realize that Cas wasn’t there. He shouldered his way over to the counter, waving at Gabriel over the heads of a half-dozen soccer moms to get his attention. Looking up from the ribbons he was curling on a shiny pink cake box Gabe jerked his chin in greeting.

 _Cas?_ Dean mouthed, knowing there was no way Gabe would hear him over the chatter from this far. Gabe shook his head and pointed at the ceiling. 

 _He’s upstairs._ He mouthed back. Dean threw him a salute and left, swinging into the doorway leading up to Gabriel’s apartment. 

He was about halfway up the stairs when he heard a reedy female voice twittering prettily over a piano tune. 

_Pour a little salt, we were never here._

The front door was slightly open and Dean pushed it in to find Cas sitting on Gabriel’s hideous yellow velvet couch, his head tipped over the back and his eyes closed. His adam’s apple stuck out from the smooth line of his throat and Dean was pretty sure he’d never get over how long and dark Cas’s eyelashes were. Like, seriously, they were frigging epic. They looked soft, too. 

He shook himself. Something about this kid always sent him to the mushiest frigging places, like he was a little lost kitten or something. It was worse than that poetry project of Sam’s in the seventh grade. 

“What the hell are you listening to?” he demanded loudly, making Cas jump. 

“Hello, Dean.” He said, one of his small smiles wrinkling his face as he sat up. Dean had noticed that Cas only ever _really_ smiled around Sam. “It is a musician called Birdy. She has a very lovely voice, don’t you think?”

“Uh, sure.” Dean shrugged. He didn’t have the heart to tell Cas this really wasn’t his kind of music. If you couldn’t smash a guitar to it, what was the point?

“I asked Sam for the car song he likes and he made me a whole playlist of songs he thought I might like.” Cas was beaming like Sammy had hand-written all the songs just for him. 

Dean grinned. “Making you a playlist of girly love-songs? It’s slipping to eighty-two percent, man.”

Cas smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you the good news!” Dean said, plopping down on the couch beside him. Cas turned to face him and Dean realized he’d sat a little close. Well, whatever. He was excited, damnit. “Bobby said you could start ten hours a week! Tomorrow morning’s your first day.” 

Cas’s eyes went wide before an even bigger smile stretched his lips. “That’s wonderful, Dean!” he said, leaning into Dean’s space excitedly. Something warm flicked under Dean’s skin at the sight of a those blue eyes all lit up with delight and without thinking he leaned closer too. 

_Who will love you? Who will fight?_

It wasn’t until he realized he’d been staring into Cas’s eyes for a full minute that he reared back, nearly slamming into the arm of the couch as he recoiled. 

“Dean?” Cas asked, placing a hand on his forearm as his smile morphed into a concerned frown. “Are you alright?” 

Dean blinked furiously, nodding and straining his upper body away from Cas. “Fine!” he said. “I’m totally fine.” Cas wasn’t buying it though, he was looking right through Dean, right through to the part of him that was panicking a little bit. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Cas said, and in one sentence he went from concerned buddy to kicked puppy. He sank down in on himself, drawing his hand from Dean carefully and placing it dejectedly in his lap. “I’m sorry.” He said, confusion thick in his voice. “I didn’t-“

“What?” Dean cut him off, forcing a laugh. “Nah, man. I’m just uh, hungry. That’s all. Missed lunch today.” It wasn’t strictly true. He’d had lunch, but the burrito he’d bought at the cart on the corner had been so disgusting even he couldn’t stomach it. After a valiant effort not to waste the $2.40 he’d called it quits and thrown it away halfway through. He’d ended up with two bags of cheetoes from Bobby’s ancient vending machine and a cup of past-prime coffee. 

“Oh. I can fix that!” Cas was all elation again, leaping to his feet and finally giving Dean an inch or two of breathing room. 

 _What the hell was that?_ Thought Dean. 

Whatever it was, it was freaking weird and not happening again. Damn Sam and his frigging girly songs. 

Luckily Cas didn’t seem to notice Dean’s relieved sigh. He was already gabbling away about all the new recipes he was learning. 

“I never was allowed to cook much back with my family. Father’s housekeeper did that. Ms. Miggins. She used to let me help, sometimes, when I was very small. And Gabriel liked baking, even back then. I always thought it was a little magical, taking all the different ingredients and putting them together in just the right way to make something else entirely.” 

“Dude, you had a housekeeper?” Dean chuckled. Of course Cas had had a housekeeper. 

Cas flushed, pulling a pan down from the fancy hanging rack thing Gabe had over the sink and setting on a burner. The song had ended and Dexy’s Midnight Runners started thumping their bass. _Come on Eileen!_ Cas didn’t seem to notice. 

“My mother died when I was two, leaving my father with five children.” Dean winced. He knew what it was like to lose a mom. It sucked. Hard. Cas pushed on. “He was a very busy man so he hired a housekeeper and a nanny to look after us.”

Dean snorted. “What, did you make all your clothes out of curtains and sing folk songs?” 

Cas stared at him. “Why would anyone make clothing from curtains? That sort of fabric would be very heavy and I suspect it would chafe.”

Dean laughed. “Ok, Captain Von Trapp.” Cas cocked his head to the side and Dean laughed. The kid didn’t even know _Sound of Music_? Talk about sheltered. “Nevermind, dude.” 

Dean smiled, relaxing back against the couch and watching Cas pull things from the refrigerator. Gabe’s apartment was one of those open plan ones, so the kitchen was really just a designated side of the main living area. There was a gaudy glass and chrome dining table off to one side and two hideously patterned armchairs with leopard-print pillows to complete the living room set. The music cycled through two more sappy pop-ballad disasters while Cas chattered away - he was talking about bread for some reason - and Dean was quite happy to just listen to him go. 

Pretty soon he smelled something delicious and hauled himself upright to investigate. As he approached the weird marble island thing that marked the kitchen area Cas proudly presented him with a plate. 

“You made me a grilled cheese?” Dean couldn’t help laughing. He wouldn’t necessarily have called it a recipe, but he guessed it technically counted as cooking. 

Cas’s face fell slightly. “Is it not what you wanted?” he asked. 

“Nah, man. Smells great.” 

“Oh.” Cas beamed, watching eagerly as Dean took the plate and pulled out one of the stools from the island. “Oh, wait!” he gasped, whirling back to the refrigerator and coming up with a large glass jar. Dean bit his lip to keep from snickering as Cas carefully pinched the very end of a long, pale dill pickle to draw it out, laying it beside Dean’s sandwich with a flourish. “There.” 

“Nice touch, Cas.” Dean chuckled. 

Cas smiled. “Gabriel said it’s not a real sandwich without a pickle.” 

“Damn straight.” Dean laughed, picking up the sandwich and taking a huge bite. 

Christ on a _trike_ , the kid had made magic. Dean let out a ragged moan, slapping one hand down on the counter as his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Holy _crap_ , Cas.” He groaned, “What the hell did you do to this?” 

When he opened his eyes Cas’s were as big as dinner plates. A deep blush started somewhere under his collar and was clawing it’s way up most of his face. “I-I-” he stuttered. He swallowed and tried again. “It’s cheddar, bacon, sweet onion, and horseradish. Gabriel’s always making too much bacon…” he was staring at Dean’s mouth, no doubt distracted by the drool and crumbs Dean couldn’t be bothered to wipe away as he savored this masterpiece of a sandwich. 

“This is frigging _awesome_ , dude.” Dean sighed, shoving another enormous bite in his face. 

Cas twitched a smile and ducked his head, turning to put the pan he’d used in the sink. “I’m glad you like it.” He said modestly. 

“Only possible way to make this better-“ before he could finish the thought Cas was handing him a beer, ice-cold and some fancy label shit that Dean was sure cost more per bottle than a whole six-pack of the crap he usually drank. 

“It’s Gabriel’s.” Cas explained. “He buys them almost every time he goes shopping but he never drinks them so I don’t think he’ll mind.” 

“Awesome.” Dean was very quiet for another four and a half minutes while he tried really hard to eat faster and slower at the same time. As he got near the far crust he started taking smaller and smaller bites to try and make it last. He took a bite of the pickle to slow himself down and he could hardly believe the sandwich could get any better but it did. So _this_ was why they put a pickle next to sandwiches. Mumford and Sons started plucking their banjoes in the background and that was at least better than whatever diva-princess crap Sam had laid down before. The beer was dark and sort of fruity but really good, and all in all Dean was pretty sure he might have found his new happy place.

This was way better than cheetoes and half a nasty burrito. 

“Are you feeling better?” Cas asked him when the last bite was gone.

“Dude.” Dean breathed, staring at his empty plate as if another sandwich might magically appear. “You just made my day.” He licked his finger and started poking at the crumbs left on his plate, licking a smear of horseradish and mingled pickle juice from his pinkie with a loud smack. 

Cas was busy putting away his ingredients, the back of his neck still bright red. Dean wasn’t sure why he had such a problem accepting praise but maybe he’d never gotten much as a kid or something. “You were very kind to me this weekend,” Cas said softly, screwing the lid back on the pickle jar, “allowing me into your home. I thought I might repay the hospitality.”

“Mi casa es su casa, Cas.” Dean declared expansively, drunk on cheddar and bacon. “Especially if you’re going to be cooking anything like that in the near future. Feel free to come use our shitty electric stove whenever you want.” He took a sip of beer and glanced down at his watch, sighing when he realised he was probably going to end up being late after all. 

“Alright. I gotta get out of here. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine-thirty, alright?” 

Cas nodded enthusiastically. “Alright.”

Dean stretched, rubbed at his full belly and sighed happily, downing the rest of his beer in one long, luxurious pull. If only he could afford this stuff…

He put the bottle down before he noticed Cas staring again, but he’d gotten pretty used to the kid’s lazer-eyes over the last few days so it didn’t really matter. 

“See you then, Cas.” He said, trotting to the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Dean.” 

 

****

 

The next morning at 9:28am the impala’s familiar rumble announced Dean’s arrival. He idled on the curb long enough for Cas to fly out the front door and climb into the passenger’s seat. 

“Morning, Cas.” He said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. 

“Good morning, Dean.” Cas couldn’t help his wide smile. Usually he was not what one would call a morning person, but today every nerve in his body was jumping at random, keyed-up by the idea of a new job alongside a friend. Of course there were other words he’d have rather used to describe Dean but he wasn’t a fool. Dean was out of reach romantically - he was several years older, incredibly attractive, heterosexual, and Sam’s older brother to name just a few reasons - and Castiel counted himself lucky to be able to call him a friend. The opportunity to talk with him and watch him work was just as exciting either way. 

Dean blinked, leaning far over onto Cas’s side of the car and inhaling deeply. A steel belt tightened around Castiel’s throat, refusing to let any air pass as Dean closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as a small flash of teeth glinted from between his parted lips. 

“Dude,” Dean breathed reverently, his eyes fluttering open to lock on Cas. “You smell _amazing._ ”

Cas giggled nervously, edging closer to the door to avoid throwing himself bodily towards Dean. After all those sounds he’d made over lunch yesterday, the way he’d tossed his head back at the first bite, the smooth drag of his tongue across his lip as he caught a stray bit of onion… Cas had nearly had to excuse himself to hide how incredibly alluring he found a sandwich-stricken Dean. And now he was inches away, _smelling_ him. Cas felt his face flame. 

“Gabriel’s morning helper had a family emergency so I spent the morning helping him bake apple strudel.” He explained in a voice he was proud to say was only slightly strained. 

Dean sighed and sat back, looking Cas up and down with an eyebrow cocked in amusement. “Nice threads.” 

Cas fidgeted, uncomfortable in the jeans and heavy work boots Gabriel had bought for him. He was more nervous than he could remember feeling in months, and the new clothes weren’t helping. “When I told Gabriel about the new job he got very excited.” He explained, glancing out the windshield at the sleepy street. “He told me I wouldn’t be allowed in a garage in a white oxford and trousers.”

Dean chortled and threw the impala into gear, sliding smoothly back into the tidy flow of mid-morning traffic. “He’s not exactly wrong.” 

“I think he went a little overboard.” Cas blushed, looking down at his new clothes. The jeans Gabriel had chosen were dark and rather tighter than Cas would have preferred them, But Gabriel would hear no argument on the matter. A midnight blue henley and mossy green over-shirt were better fitting but still felt ridiculous. It was as though he were playing dress up in someone else’s clothes. The boots pinched his feet but he knew that would fade as he wore them. The only thing that felt remotely familiar was his belt. Hardly a comfort. “He bought me a t-shirt that says ‘talk nerdy to me’ across the chest, and another with a picture of a kitten that says ‘Meow you doin’?’” 

Dean barked out a laugh. “Nice.”

“I didn’t have the heart to refuse him.” Cas shrugged. “Though I drew the line at Hawaiian print.”  

“Good thinking.” Dean grinned. “Nah, you look good, Cas.” He said, eyeing Cas up and down again. Dean’s gaze was like a physical touch and Cas refused to allow a shiver to skate across his skin as it passed. Dean was a _friend_. 

“Thank you.” He said simply, folding his hands on his thigh and gazing out the window. They were heading away from the river, past the school and towards the center of town. Singer Auto was a flat, wide building in a fenced-in yard just outside the parking lot of a strip mall, and a totally alien place to Castiel. The paint was fading and chipped around six gleaming glass roll-up doors.A dozen cars of different makes and models were neatly parked in a line on the far side of the lot, stacks of hubcaps and spare tires in perfect order near the old white-ish scuffed door. Cas watched it all slide past his window with a little knot of trepidation coiling and uncoiling in his chest.

Dean pulled around the back of the building to a much narrower strip where two other cars were already parked, killing the engine and sitting back. 

“Ready?” he asked, rubbing his hands together briskly. 

Castiel nodded, feeling anything but. 

They climbed out of the car and headed in, Cas following Dean through the squeaky back door into the main body of the garage. A pile of grey jumpsuits was mounded to the right of the door and Dean plucked one up, drawing it over his jeans and t-shirt with practiced ease. Cas was too busy watching to notice the approach of a skinny mullet-bearing man in his early twenties. 

“Hey Dean-machine.” Drawled the man, flicking his long hair out over one shoulder and giving Cas the once-over. He twirled a toothpick in his mouth, his eyes half-lidded and slightly vacant. “Who’s the swizzle stick?” 

“Hey Ash.” Dean greeted him, accepting the offered-high five as he zipped his suit. “This is Cas. He’s gonna be helping Bobby organize this dump.” 

Ash grinned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jumpsuit. “Good luck with that, slim.” He warned Castiel. “That office hasn’t seen a duster since 1986.” 

“Don’t scare him off in his first five minutes.” Dean sighed. “Cas, this is Ash, the laziest piece of crap to ever roll downhill. He’s a whiz on systems though so if someone’s got electrical issues or that onboard computer crap you steer them straight to Ash, got it?”

“That’s me.” Ash preened, flicking a bit of imaginary dirt from his shoulder. “Certified genius.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ash.” Castiel murmured politely.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s your mess he’ll be cleaning up, Ash, so try to keep Cas happy today, alright?” 

Ash laughed and stuck his hand out for Cas to shake. It was rather like clasping a damp sock rather than shaking hands but Castiel felt the warmth of the gesture just the same. “Good to know you, Cas.” He soughed easily, leaning back on his heels until he tipped and stumbled away. 

“Benny!” Dean called, trotting across the garage to a large red car beneath the hood of which bent a large, round-faced man. He was older than Dean or Ash, perhaps in his early thirties with a neatly trimmed beard and very short hair. 

“Mornin’ Dean.” He murmured in a slow southern accent. His eyes were quick as he looked Castiel over, one hand still holding a screwdriver. “This the kid?”

“Benny, Cas. Cas, Benny.” Dean said, waving a hand between them vaguely. “Benny’s the one to know when you’ve got a high-strung client who doesn’t know shit about cars. The guys who bought them because they were expensive and don’t have a goddamn clue what they’re looking at when they pop the hood, you send those to Benny, got it, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas nodded, wondering how he was to recognize someone like that. 

“And Deano’s the one you go to if you ever get in a muscle car, isn’t that right, brother?” Benny smiled, his voice warm. 

“Of course.” Dean nodded. “Only the classics.”

“Brother, they’re all classics eventually.” Benny chuckled. 

“Bite your tongue.” Dean sounded outraged but Castiel could see his eyes sparkle. “Really, Cas, any one of us can do pretty much all of that, but if you’ve got a choice we’ve each got our strongest game.”

Castiel nodded.

“So this is Gabriel Novak’s little brother, hm?” a rusted-out voice interjected from behind them. Cas turned to find a bowlegged older man leaning on a tool bench, his jumpsuit stretched over his slight belly and a baseball cap jammed down over his head. He was scowling but Castiel had the feeling that was more a habitual expression than a response to anything in particular. 

“Good morning, Mr. Singer.” Cas said immediately, stepping up to offer his hand.

Bobby took it but shook his head with an ugly snort. “Bobby’s plenty formal for me, kid.” He said and Cas nodded. “You Castiel?”

“Yes, sir.” Cas said, frowning when Benny sniggered. Bobby shot him a dirty look and the mechanic ducked back under this hood. 

“Dean says you got fired from your last job.” Bobby said flatly and Dan winced. 

“Yes, sir.” Cas repeated easily. It was the truth, after all. 

“Why?” 

Cas set his feet apart, bracing unconsciously as he explained. “The owner of the store I worked at happened to be the great-uncle of a boy I go to school with and with whom I recently had an altercation.”

Bobby’s eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his hat. He cast a glance to Dean, who was shifting nervously from foot to foot. “And what was this altercation about?”

“There were several, actually.” Castiel admitted, tilting his head thoughtfully. “But the most recent was because he spoke to Jo Harvelle in an extremely disrespectful manner. I took exception and remedied the situation.”

Bobby pursed his lips. “And how did you manage that?”

“Two strikes to the throat and a third to the stomach put him on the floor without excessive injury. I was, unfortunately, in the principle’s office at the time, so I have been suspended for a week.” 

Dean was grinning, though Cas wasn’t sure why. It really wasn’t a very funny story. “He got fired though because Kennedy and some other shit-heads jumped him, sent him to the hospital and he missed his shift.” Dean offered.

“Uh-hu.” Bobby grunted, peering hard at Cas’s skinny frame. “Well, can’t say I haven’t heard worse. Welcome aboard.” Adjusting his cap, he pointed to a dust-covered coffee maker and a sad paper cup full of artificial sweetener sitting amid the chaos of a nearby workbench. “First job for you is to get the coffee station in working order. Good luck, kid.” And he turned on his heel and disappeared behind a rust-pitted door marked ‘office’. 

Dean grinned, slinging an arm over Cas’s shoulder and laughing. “He likes you, dude.” He congratulated. 

Cas wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

 


	15. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit piecemeal but I hope it came together well enough. I did a little research and I promise the mascot for Lawrence High School is entirely factual. The rest is all artistic license. I have no idea what their sports facilities are like or if they even have a lacrosse team.

Within a week Cas had completely overhauled the garage at Singer Auto and wrapped each employee around their own dedicated finger. Dean watched the whole process from the corner of his eye, glad to see that he wasn’t the only one who got the warm fuzzies from being around the guy. There was something about his serious face and stiff demeanor that softened everyone around him. Cas had started his campaign by effortlessly flattering Ash into rewiring the coffee machine, genuinely impressed by the redneck’s electrical flair. 

“I would love to learn such a useful skill.” He’d breathed in fascination as Ash fiddled with the simple electrical board. 

“Nothin’ to it at all, toothpick.” Ash had declared, smiling up at Cas’s confused expression. “When we got some extra time I’ll show you how to change a spark plug. That’s the first thing anyone should know about working in a garage.” 

While Ash was busy hunting down a new ground wire, Cas had found an old tool rack shoved behind a rack of sheet metal and crawled up on the tool bench to mount it. This time he called on Benny to help him drive a nail through the cinderblock wall. Benny was happy to oblige, telling Cas that he needed a drill and screws, not nails. Then he showed him where to place them and how to make sure they were even with a lazer level, having Cas mark the placement carefully with a sharpie. Dean had to bite back a chuckle at the sight of Cas stretched on his tip-toes with his tongue caught between his teeth as he made a perfectly circular dot on the dusty cinderblocks. Once the board was hung he carefully hung each and every instrument from the pile clogging the bench neatly on it’s own hook. Benny helped, suggesting which ones to group together and which ones should probably be kept within easy reach. 

“What is this one for?” Cas asked about a hundred times in a row. Benny patiently explained the basic use of each tool and Dean caught Cas’s lips moving as he committed each of the big man’s answers to memory, like he thought there might be a test on it later. 

Even Bobby got that fatherly glint in his eye when Cas asked him if he might root through the scrap pile for something suitable to make a rack for the mountain of jumpsuits. 

“Don’t really need one,” the mechanic had grumbled, scratching at his beard, “but whatever floats your boat, kid.” 

And so Cas had spent the rest of the afternoon digging on the back of the lot, a pair of heavy work gloves Dean had given him falling off every few minutes until he found a bit of piping and some beaten up two-by-fours. 

“Dean?” he called, dragging his find in through the second bay. 

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asked, jogging over to give him a hand with the heavy length of piping. 

“Could you help me?” 

“Sure.” They spent the next half hour with Cas directing Dean to hammer this or brace that, Dean explaining a few basic engineering concerns (like how to keep it standing) until they ended up with a neat little railing suspended about five feet off the ground. Cas beamed proudly at it and Dean clapped him on the shoulder. 

“We’ll grab some coat hangers from the dollar store tonight and it’ll be all set.” He said. “Nice job, Cas.”

It went on like that for the rest of the week. While Bobby had said ten hours Cas ended up spending every one of Dean’s shifts with him at the garage and by the end of the week it was spotless. Every jumpsuit and oil rag was laundered and hung, every tool and tire had it’s own place to rest. Even Bobby’s office had made a little progress. Cas had dedicated a whole afternoon to mapping out a filing system with Bobby, including moving all the receipts older than two years into a storage facility and entering all the newer ones into the groaning monstrosity Bobby called his computer. Cas didn’t seem to mind it’s outdated operating system as he patiently entered the data, starting with the most recent work orders and working backward. 

It wasn’t really much of a surprise that he was terrible with the customers. He straight out sucked at small talk, and Dean had had to step in when he’d caught the kid asking about the state of Mrs. Harris’s marriage. The sixty-something had burst into tears and fallen all over Cas, weeping into his t-shirt like a soap-opera heroine and confessing her husband’s infidelities in a shrill whine. 

“What the hell did you do?” Dean demanded as Cas awkwardly patted Mrs. Harris’s back. 

“I only asked her-“ he stuttered, looking supremely uncomfortable. 

“Nevermind!” Dean cut him off and gathered the woman up in his arms and taken her to Bobby’s office. “Make her a cup of coffee or something!” 

While Cas had brewed her a cup of tea at his newly-minted coffee bar Dean had talked Mrs. Harris through her little breakdown and cursed Cas’s weird Jedi mind tricks. She’d kissed them each on the cheek before she’d left, and given Cas a little extra squeeze. 

No, Dean definitely wasn’t alone in getting the warm fuzzies. 

Cas was taking his suspension in stride. Dean would have thought he’d be all tied up in knots about the whole thing, nerdy little guy that he was, but when Dean asked him about it at lunch on Tuesday he just shrugged. 

“I understood the consequences before I took action,” he explained calmly, munching on his sandwich. He had traded Dean his peanut butter and fluff (Gabriel made it, no surprise) for a ham and cheese. Dean didn’t mind the extra sugar. He could use it after the shitty night’s sleep he’d gotten. They were sitting out in front of the garage on some stacks of tired, their legs swinging in the cool air as the dim sound of traffic slid over the fence. “And I decided the punishment was worth it. What point is there worrying about it now?” 

Dean shook his head. “You are surprisingly zen sometimes, man.” 

“Were you ever suspended?” Cas asked. 

“Me?” Dean laughed, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “Nah. I ditched and rode the line between passing and failing pretty hard, but I never got in serious trouble. Dad would have handed me my ass in a gift-wrapped box.” 

“For squandering your education?” Castiel guessed, looking uncertain. Dean was sure Sammy hadn’t told him much about their dad, but Cas had at least learned enough to know that didn’t sound like John Winchester. 

Dean shook his head. John had always been quite clear that education was pretty low-down on his list of priorities for his sons, particularly Dean. But somehow Dean knew that if he’d drawn attention to them, brought administrators and officials into their transient lives, John would have been more than angry. “More… I don’t know. We moved around a lot, I know Sammy told you. Dad didn’t want anyone poking their noses into our lives, maybe taking us away.”

Cas’s eyes went wide. “Take you away? Were things that bad?”

Dean pinched his lips together, uncomfortable with how Cas always seemed to effortlessly weasel these things out of him. Normally he didn’t talk about his whole stupid childhood, what Jo referred to as his “tragic backstory”. It was just so needy to hash it all out again and again. Besides, he’d survived. Sammy had survived. He and Sam were doing ok now all on their own. There was no need to go diving back into the past looking for reasons they shouldn’t be happy. But Cas was different. Maybe because he’d been through some shit himself Dean didn’t feel so pathetic and whiney talking with him about it. That and he seemed to guess a lot of it for himself, or maybe Sammy told him this shit. Either way, he wasn’t afraid to pick at the chinks in Dean’s armor. Cas didn’t have a filter. He just said whatever popped into his head, even if - or maybe especially if - it was delicate stuff a normal human would politely avoid mentioning. Dean realized that instead of annoying he found Cas’s direct approach somehow soothing. 

“From the state’s view? Probably.” Dean shrugged, licking fluff from his thumb. “Sammy and I lived in motels, which isn’t really ideal in Social Service’s eyes. We had clean clothes and Sammy always had the right books and things. We didn’t usually stay in one place long enough to attract much attention, but Dad used to tell us to keep our heads down or else.” 

“That must have been difficult for you.” Cas said, and Dean was surprised to find him smiling. 

“What?” 

“Well, Dean, I haven’t known you very long but you don’t seem like you enjoy ‘keeping your head down’.” He’d even done the little rabbit-ear quote motion. Dean couldn’t help laughing. 

 

****

 

“Kennedy and Rigby were both suspended.” Sam informed Cas on Wednesday night with a smug smile. He and Jo had met Cas and Dean at the Roadhouse after their shift at the garage with all of Cas’s assignments from the week. “They found the spray paint cans in Rigby’s locker and turns out one of the security cameras actually works and caught Kennedy with one in his hand. Kennedy’s out for a month. He’s going to be on probation when he gets back and one more slip up means he’s expelled.” 

“Chuck seems very consistent.” Cas observed, shredding his napkin as his eyes inevitably sought out Dean behind the bar. This week had given him the opportunity to get to know the older Winchester. He had hoped that proximity would breed familiarity and thus comfort, but if anything knowing Dean better only served to burrow him deeper under Castiel’s skin. He was funny, quick to make a joke of just about anything. He particularly delighted in making references that Castiel didn’t understand. At first they had just been a part of the flow of conversation but as the week progressed Cas was sure he was doing it on purpose. Sometimes he got so obscure even Ash didn’t recognize what he was talking about. 

“You ok, Cas?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes and the older boy. 

Cas jumped. “Hm? Oh, yes. I’m fine.” He said quickly, stuffing his straw in his mouth and looking away.

“This morning we all had to sit through an assembly on tolerance and harassment and all that bullshit.” Jo said, rolling her eyes exhaustedly. “Like that’s going to make a dent in Raphael’s dickhole persona.” 

Castiel shrugged. “I suppose it’s expected after an incident like this.” 

“The LGBTQ club got up and talked about sexual identity and all that.” Sam said, eyeing Cas discretely from behind his hair. “They have counselling services and stuff.”

Cas smiled. “Thank you, Sam, but I am perfectly at ease with who I am. While I’m still getting used to this sort of reaction, I don’t believe I need counselling.”

“Oh.” Sam blushed and busied himself folding and unfolding his napkin. “Right. Well, thought I’d tell you, anyway.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Cas patted his arm and turned his eyes away again. “Oh, dear.” He sighed, catching a flash of red hair. 

Jo bristled, half-standing as Amelia caught sight of them. Setting her jaw, Amelia marched towards them, ignoring Jo’s angry sneer as she closed in on the table. 

“Castiel, could I talk to you?” Amelia asked, and Cas was surprised to hear not a note of uncertainty in her voice. It was steel-edged, her eyes blazing as she stood ramrod straight beside Sam. 

“Why, you-“ Jo snarled, but Sam kicked her sharply under the table. 

“Of course, Amelia.” Castiel said, placing a calming hand on Jo’s wrist. 

“I want you to know it wasn’t me who told Raphael about what you said to me.” Amelia’s voice cracked like a whip, her hair shivering around her shoulders. She was practically blazing, anger rippling off her in tangible waves. Castiel could barely believe this was the same Amelia that couldn’t look him in the eye a few days ago. “I wouldn’t do that to you, even if you turned me down.” 

Jo snorted indelicately but Castiel shot her a look. “Alright.” He said calmly. 

“I only told a friend of mine, Sarah. She knew about the date - or what I thought was a date, I guess…” she stumbled, her eyes softening in a plea for understanding before she pressed on. “Anyway, she wanted to know how it went. I told her. I found out today that the first thing she did was run straight to Raphael with the news. Apparently,” her lips curled in an ugly sneer, “she’s been trying to catch his eye for years now and she thought this might get his attention. I’m so sorry, Castiel. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Cas smiled, shaking his head. “I’m not ashamed of who I am, Amelia.” He said softly. “I have never sought to hide this part of myself. It was a shock, to see that hateful word directed at me in such a public way, but I’m alright now.”

Amelia deflated, a huge breath whooshing out of her and a tentative smile blooming. “Really? You’re not pissed?”

“At you?” Cas laughed. “Certainly not. You didn’t send those idiots after me, and you had your own confidences betrayed, too. As I keep telling you, you are not responsible for the actions of others.”

“But they’re saying you beat the hell out of Rigby and Kennedy for calling you… you know.” She bit her lip, flushing prettily.

Sam laughed. “He beat them up for calling Jo a whore for about the millionth time.” He supplied. Jo shot him a glare. 

“Bastards.” Spat Amelia. Jo blinked at her, surprised. “Everyone knows Jo doesn’t sleep around. That’s what’s pissed Raph off so much. She turned him down in the eighth grade and he’s never gotten over it. He’s very delicate about that sort of thing.” 

Sam chuckled. “I forgot about that.” He said, wiggling his eyebrow at Jo. “To think, Jo, you could be queen of Lawrence High right now if you’d played your cards right.”

“You still could be, Winchester.” Jo shot back. “You’ve got the hair for it.”

 

****

 

The first day back was odd for Castiel.

He’d gotten so used to accompanying Dean to the garage every morning that it was rather a shock to have to face a new day at Lawrence. As he pushed through the crowded corridor towards home room he found himself longing for Benny’s lazy smile and Bobby’s annoyed shouting. Even Ash’s mullet would be a welcome sight. The smell of grease and gasoline was far preferable to the noxious mix of cologne, body odor, stationary and cheap perfume that filled the halls. 

None of his teachers made any great show of welcoming him back, for which he was grateful. Kennedy and Rigby were still on suspension, so he didn’t have to endure their leering jibes. Raphael was nowhere to be seen in homeroom and Castiel took that as a blessing. Amelia smiled at him from her seat but didn’t approach him. 

He made it smoothly through his first few classes, catching a few of the other students staring at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. He supposed the news of his exploits in Chuck’s office had piqued their interest. Well, hopefully if his little display had accomplished anything it was that anyone looking to follow Raphael’s example would think twice before coming after him. By lunch time he was more exhausted than after a shift at the garage, though he’d expended less physical energy. 

He wove his way through the crowd towards the table he usually shared with Alfie, Jo and Sam but was stopped halfway with a hand on his elbow. 

“Virgil.” He said, recognizing the olive-skinned boy from fencing club. 

“Just wanted to say welcome back.” Virgil said in a smooth, warm tone. “Hope you can make it to practice this week.” 

Castiel tried not to look surprised but he was pretty sure he failed, judging by Virgil’s amused eyebrow twitch. “Thank you.” He said. “I don’t plan to miss it.”

“Good.” Virgil released his arm and turned away.

Cas still had a puzzled frown on his face when he took his place between Sam and Alfie. 

“What’s up, Cas?” Sam asked, looking worried. He had been at Reynard’s until closing the night before, assuring and reassuring Castile that nothing would go wrong on his first day back from suspension. Cas himself hadn’t been too worried about it, but Sam was a wreck. 

“Virgil.” Cas said, glancing back to where the taller boy had left him. “He said he hopes I make it to practice this week.”

Sam slumped in relief, popping the lid off a tupperware of pasta salad. “Oh. Yeah he’s on that LGBTQ alliance thing I told you about.”

“Really?” Jo asked, craning her neck to try and catch a glimpse of him. 

“He calls himself an ally. His sister is bi.” Alfie supplied. “Apparently she got hassled a lot in high school and joined the alliance in college. Virgil joined our branch freshman year. He counsels and everything.”

“I see.” Cas nodded. 

“Nice of him to welcome you back.” Sam observed, peering at Cas’s face as if searching for something. When Cas just looked calmly back at him he shook his head and shoved a fork into his pasta. 

“I brought you these.” Cas said, producing his usual bakery box from his bag. Alfie grinned and Jo let out a whoop of delight. 

“You have no idea how boring lunch has been all week!” she cried. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “You went to Reynard’s like four times last week.” 

“Yeah, but these are free.” Jo said, snatching up a cupcake and shoving half of it in her mouth. 

 

**** 

 

“Who pissed in your porridge?” Bobby snapped, shoving Dean’s head roughly to the side. 

“Nothing!” Dean said immediately, wincing as he realized that didn’t make sense. “I mean, no one.”

“Well something’s crawled up your butt.” Ash chimed in from beneath a beat up old taurus. “You been scowling all day. Freaking buzzkill, man.” 

Dean frowned at the bottom of Ash’s boots. He was in a bad mood, it was true. “Slept wrong.” He grunted, rubbing at his sore neck. 

“Slept alone, you mean.” Benny laughed from his pit. He was doing a major overhaul of some euro-trash sports car for a jackass realtor who’d bought it as a glorified codpiece. “You need to get you some tail, brother. That always puts you back in a chipper mood real quick.” 

Dean grunted again. It had been a few weeks since he’d had a date, but Jeanie had been getting a little clingy. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. She was tall, blond, stacked, and a nice enough girl. They had fun together. But fun was just about all he could deal with right now. She’d been hinting at wanting something with a bit more stability beneath it, if by hinting you meant flat-out saying. So he’d told her he’d think about it and not called her since, the old standby break-up move. He gave it about another week before he texted her for drinks and she told him to get stuffed. Until then he wasn’t about to put the moves on someone new. It was a weird sort of honor code, but it hadn’t steered him wrong in the past. In the meantime he would just have to get a little more quality shower time in. 

“Your coffee sucks, Ash.” He said, chucking his half-full cup neatly into the trash barrel. 

“Ohhhh.” Ash hummed, sliding out from under the taurus. “So that’s it.”

“What’s it?” Dean demanded, recognizing the slick smirk Ash pulled when he thought he’d caught scent of some good gossip. 

“You miss your little buddy.” Ash sing-songed. 

“What?” Dean balked. The morning had been dragging a bit without Cas around, but it wasn’t like he was moping about it or anything. 

“Toothpick’s been keeping you company all week and now he’s back to the hallowed halls of academia, leaving you here in the muck with us plebs.” Ash grinned. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “At least the kid can make a cup of coffee that doesn’t taste like ass.” He griped. 

“Your coffee does suck, brother.” Benny agreed.

Ash ignored him. “Poor widdle Deany,” he cooed, clasping his hands dreamily beneath his chin. “Missing his widdle pal.” 

Dean felt entirely justified in shoving Ash’s head into his armpit for the next six minutes. 

 

****

 

“Shake a leg, little brother!” Gabriel hollered from behind the counter.  

It was closing on evening and Cas, dressed in jeans and a ridiculous red and black t-shirt Gabriel had given him with a lion mascot posturing proudly across the front - what exactly _is_ a “Chesty Lion”?, he thought to himself for the hundredth time - was carefully stacking the half dozen bakery boxes in the kitchen for their trip to the car. Gabriel had agreed to make sugar cookies for the boosters to sell at the game and for some reason that meant Cas had the job of loading them into the narrow back seat of his Camaro. 

Castiel had never been a fan of crowds (they rarely failed to five him blistering headaches within twenty minutes) but he was willing to make an exception today. In fact, he was quite excited about the prospect of sitting jammed in uncomfortable bleachers amid hundreds of other screaming fans. It was the first lacrosse game of the season, Sam’s first game since rejoining the team, and he’d asked Castiel to come. 

“I know you’re not really into sports.” He’d said, tipping his chin up and letting his eyes slide away from Cas’s. “But they’re pretty fun. Jo and Alfie are going.”

“I would love to see you play.” Cas had replied, uncertain why Sam was acting so oddly. It was as though he were trying to seem unaffected while he was clearly very interested in Castiel’s answer. 

Instantly Sam dropped the act, beaming. “Great! It’s a night game so we’re playing under the lights and everything. Dean will be there too.” Cas was very aware of the way Sam’s eyes lingered on him as he delivered this news, and fought hard not to blush under the scrutiny. Thankfully, Sam didn’t mention his failure. 

“Cassie, get your head in the game!” Gabriel roared, bursting in in an alarming streak of red and yellow. He’d covered his face in thick paint, a lion’s mask with blood dripping luridly from his mouth. It was rather a good likeness, almost as good as the little lions he’d piped onto the sugar cookies. 

“You are very artistic.” Cas informed him as he struggled to lift the boxes. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “And you are freaking slow. Get a _move_ on, I want good seats for Sammy’s triumphant return!” 

With Gabriel’s help they managed to get all the boxes safely transferred to the camero and on their way, Cas’s heart thumping already at just the thought of the crowd. The school’s parking lot was jammed full by the time they arrived and they ended up having to carry the cookies from the street all the way down to the athletics fields. By the time they reached the tall white structure that housed the announcer’s booth and score board, Cas’s hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat. It turned out six boxed of sugar cookies were really quite heavy indeed. 

A chubby blond woman and a skeletal young man were waiting to help unburden him, the woman planting a large smacking kiss over Gabriel’s lion-cheek. 

“Such a lot, Gabe!” she cried in a shrill voice. “These will be the star of the refreshment stand today.”

“Oh, they’re nothing special Gayle. Just a little treat I whipped up specially for you.” He grinned, and Cas distinctly saw him pinch the woman’s ample bottom. She blushed and slapped his shoulder playfully. 

“You little devil.” She twittered. Cas decided not to linger. 

He cut his way towards the bleachers, wondering where Jo and Alfie were likely to have stationed themselves. He was half-way there when a heavy arm landed around his shoulders and pulled him to a halt. 

“Well look who’s got some school spirit.” Raphael drawled, his thick lips nearly brushing Castiel’s temple. The stink of alcohol on his breath was enough to overpower his usual stink of expensive cologne. “Hello, Android.” Cas ducked out from under his arm, watching disdainfully as Raphael stumbled before managing to right himself. 

As Cas pushed through the crowd Raphael shadowed him, unrelenting. “It’s Winchester’s big debut, hu?” he taunted, tripping along behind Castiel. “Figure he must have traded crack for ‘roids, anyway. Fucking freak.”

Cas ignored him. 

“Should be in jail.” Raphael continued. “With that little slut of his.” 

Cas clenched his jaw and walked on. 

Raphael’s tone dropped to something slick and ugly. “Of course he’s got a new little slut now, hu, Novak? You bending over for him in that little study group you nerds got? Fucking faggot.”

Cas counted his breaths. The idiot wasn’t even making sense, just poking at every sore spot he thought he’d found and hoping he hit one deep enough to force a reaction. Ahead Cas could see Jo waving, and beside her Dean with a red stripe on each cheek and a worried frown. They could both see Raphael tailing him now but were too far away to do anything about it. 

“Doesn’t matter. We’re all just waiting for his inevitable crash and burn, really.” Raphael choked out a laugh. “Trash like him can’t avoid it, no matter who they’re fucking.” 

Cas wheeled around, his fist already clenched at his side when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

“So good to see you out supporting the home team, Mr. Novak!” Chuck Shurley greeted him with a smile. Cas blinked at him, loosening the fist he had been ready to throw. “And you, Mr. Finnerman.”

It seemed Raphael was too drunk to plaster on his charming facade. He blinked myopically at Chuck, his sneer still firmly in place. 

“Whoof!” Gabriel cried, appearing at Raphael’s shoulder and waving a hand in front of his face. “Who’s got the eighty proof mouthwash? Heya, Chuck, how’s it hanging?”

“I’m doing just fine, Gabe. I think Mr. Finnerman here might be a bit under the weather, however.” 

“Under the table, you mean.” Gabe laughed, waving his hand again to ward off the stink. “Kid’s toasted.”

“While underage and on school property.” Chuck agreed with a frown. “I think we will have to discuss that, if you gentlemen will excuse us?” And he took Raphael by the elbow and led him away. 

Cas watched them go, feeling a dirty twist of satisfaction as he watched the realization dawn on Raphael’s hazy features. Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder and chuckled. 

“I was on my way to rescue you but it looks like Chuck had it handled.”

Castiel nodded his agreement. “And I can’t say I’m sorry for it. I was about to hit the little twerp.”

“‘Twerp?’” Gabriel repeated incredulously. “You’ve been hanging around Bobby Singer too much. Come on, let’s get over there before Dean goes into contractions.” 

By the time they reached the others and took their seats, Cas was grinning ear to ear. 

“What happened there?” Dean asked, still trying to pick Raphael out from the crowd as if worried he were about to ambush them. 

“A timely intervention.” Cas replied, trying not to notice how his hip pressed into Dean’s as they where squashed together by the crowd. 

“Meaning?” Dean asked, his shoulder scraping past Cas’s as he leaned forward to reach the soda clutched between the toes of his boots. 

“Meaning I doubt Raphael will be quite so smug about my recent suspension while enduring one himself.” Cas explained. Dean grinned at him, his green eyes flashing in delight, and Castiel grinned right back.  

 

****

 

The game was excellent. Sam played the entire second half. He was a natural leader on the field, even Castiel could see. He got two assists and scored three goals - what Dean called a ‘hat-trick’, inspiring Gabriel to lead a large section of the crowd in a rude song about the other team’s ram mascot until the referee came over and told him to stop. Lawrence beat the visiting team fourteen to nine and Castiel could still feel the heat of Dean’s side pressed up against his on the ride home. 

 


	16. Unwelcome Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I had entirely too much fun with this chapter. It was supposed to be serious business, but I got a bit carried away with lightening the mood. Check the chapter end notes for explanations of all the little treats I hid in here for myself and you all. Mostly myself, I think. Enjoy!

“Come on, Sammy!” Gabriel garbled around a mouthful of half-masticated skittles. Castiel was glad he’d thought to buy three extra bags; there certainly wouldn’t have been enough for both Gabriel _and_ the children otherwise. 

“I don’t really do costumes, Gabe.” Sam said for the third time, backing slowly away from the large, hairy garment dangling from Gabe’s left hand. It looked like someone had let all the air out of a bear. 

“It can’t be the ‘Haunted Forrest’ without a Samsquatch.” Gabriel insisted, cornering Sam between a table and the display case. “Put the damn costume on.” 

Sam glanced to Castiel for support, but Cas just shook his head. “There’s no stopping him when he’s like this. Why do you think I’m wearing these?” He pointed to the slightly crooked set of rabbit ears Gabriel had jammed on his head first thing this morning. 

Halloween fell on a Saturday this year and as he did every year Gabriel had decided to take the opportunity to deck the store out for a massive, day-long party. Long after Cas had given up and gone to bed Gabriel had been downstairs transforming his warm, welcoming shop into a bizarre combination of sylvan and sinister. Five birch saplings occupied the spaces between tables, reaching all the way to the ceiling and casting odd shadows across the armchairs. Around their bases crowded mouldering styrofoam bones, arranged to look like their owners might have been trying to crawl to safety before they died. Tablecloths of tea-stained lace (Cas knew that detail because he had been the one to fill the bathtub with hot water and a hundred and fifty tea bags three days earlier) leant the place a creepy victorian feel and Gabriel’s thrift-store finds of old mismatched candelabras, lanterns, half-rotted books and a large brass birdcage served as centrepieces along with hundreds of blackening roses. Fake crows peered down from atop all the window sills and curtain rails with beady black eyes. Real tree branches reached skeletal twigs down just above head-height and had been liberally dusted with fake cobwebs and Spanish moss. A few huge jewelled silver spiders were strategically placed amid the foliage so that they looked to be watching anyone who passed below, waiting to pounce. 

Poor Sam had shown up to this movie set without a costume at Cas’s invitation, not realizing that they’d be spending time in the store and not the apartment. “I think they’ll get the picture without me.” Sam smiled nervously, motioning to the incredible set-up.

Gabriel huffed, peering out at Sam from behind his frighteningly realistic mask. “No costume, no entry. I know Big-Daddy Winchester was low on holiday spirit but he’s not here and I am. You’re wearing the costume.” 

Sam sighed and cast Cas a look that said _it’s really not worth the fight, is it?_

Cas smiled and shook his head, turning around to show Sam the fluffy tail Gabriel had forcibly pinned to his rear. Gabriel himself was dressed in a richly embellished costume: a white silk shirt with billowing sleeves and a green brocade vest over brown leather trousers and fur-trimmed leather boots. A fox’s mask that Castiel wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t made from real fur covered most of his face and swept up into long beautifully furred ears that stuck up through two holes cut in the wide brim of his plumed hat. A thick bottle-brush tail sprouted from the back of his thick belt and hung past his knees. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll be the Samsquatch.” Sam sighed, shaking out the costume with a grimace. “What are you supposed to be, anyway, some sort of fox prince thing?”

Gabriel snorted as he dug behind the counter for something. “I’m Reynard the fox, you twit.” He explained. “The great trickster of legend who outsmarted Isengrim the wolf in the court of the king and after whom this beloved Lawrence landmark is named.” 

“And I, apparently, am a rabbit he murdered.” Cas added blandly, smearing fake blood across the shoulder of the fuzzy white sweater Gabriel had given him. He hadn’t been prepared for a costume, since he’d never been allowed to celebrate halloween before. Their father had felt it was an unchristian tradition, rooted in pagan ritual and devoted to hedonistic excesses. Luckily, Gabriel - who was all in favor of a little hedonism now and then - had been prepared with a costume for Cas, complete with brown peasant vets, white trousers and fluffy white slippers. He tilted his head to show Sam the itchy prosthetic wound Gabriel had carefully glued across half of his neck. It was really quite gruesome, and surprisingly accurate anatomically. 

“Oh. I always wondered about the name.” Sam said, pulling on what looked to Cas like one of Bobby’s mechanic jumpsuits except that it was made entirely of shag carpet. As he zipped it up it was quite clearly too small, leaving several inches of bare wrist and ankle showing. 

“Damn.” Gabriel frowned as the fabric stretched tight over Sam’s chest. “I got the biggest one they had, too. Has anyone ever told you that you are freakishly tall?”

“A time or two.” Sam replied drily.

“Don’t forget the feet.” Gabe grinned, holding up a pair of massive rubber feet covered in wiry hair. “They strap on over your shoes.”

Sam scowled, pulling what Cas had heard Dean call a “bitchface”. “You really hate me, don’t you?” he hissed, but he took the feet and strapped them on. 

“Perfect!” Gabriel cried, clapping his hands in delight. He produced a pot of black face paint - a good portion of which was already making Cas’s eyelids itch - and smeared it beneath Sam’s eyes, smudging it into his cheeks, neck, and hands so he looked filthy. “Could’t convince you to wear fake nails, could I?” Gabe guessed, displaying his own ragged yellow claws. He sighed when Sam bitchfaced even harder. “Alright, alright. Don’t get your flannel in a wad. Now we just…” he stood on tip-toes and forced Sam to bend so he could ruffle up his hair, tossing in a few twigs from the birches for good measure. Then he took the bottle of fake blood from Cas and judiciously applied a few dribbles to either corner of Sam’s lips. 

“And _viola!_ The Samsquatch is real, y’all!” 

Castiel smiled, pleased to see Gabriel enjoying himself so much. According to Sam Gabriel’s elaborate costumes, magnificent bakery creations, and of course holiday pranks had been famous ever since he moved to Lawrence. Hundreds of parents brought their kids to his party every year. Patrons knew they wouldn’t be admitted to the store without a costume and that best costume prizes were offered in the form of free baked goods. There wasn’t any formal costume, just Gabriel’s whims that directed the competition. Castiel was astonished by the hundreds of specialty cakes and goodies his brother had made with his helpers, from cake-pop goblins scowling and sticking out tiny pink bubble-gum tongues to a massive graveyard scene made of brownies with marzipan skeletons and chocolate zombies that covered an entire display table in the window. The front tables had been cleared away for a row of halloween themed games, with a “guess the gore” game where a bucket of peeled grapes labelled “eyeballs” and another of cold oiled manicotti labelled “intestines”. A row of to scale human brain cakes glistened with raspberry coulis blood. There was a “Tricks or Treats” display of cupcakes, most of which were passionfruit filled with chocolate gnash but a few of which were actually cornbread containing caramelized onions and red-wine-soaked mushrooms. Still delicious, but a disconcerting surprise when one was expecting sweetness. Delicate spiderwebs of spun sugar flickered in the ruddy orange lighting he’d devised around the counter and neon-green cupcakes actually glowed in the dark on the back counter. 

“Alright.” Gabriel chirped, rubbing his hands together. “Showtime in ten. I’m going to go rally the troops before my adoring public is allowed in. Don’t open that door until eleven exactly. Got it?” 

Cas nodded and Gabriel practically sprinted into the kitchen. There was already a crowd forming outside the doors, trying fruitlessly to peer through the black gauze curtains Gabriel had hung for the day and get a glimpse of the place. 

“He sure loves this holiday.” Sam muttered, shuffling his enormous fake feet. 

“I think it appeals to his dramatic nature.” Cas told him, glancing around at the decorations again. “And a word to the wise: don’t try the caramel ‘apples’.” He flicked his fingers to emphasize the quotation marks. 

Sam laughed. “Gotcha. Thanks for the heads up. Any other nasty surprises I should expect?”

“Not that he’s told me.” Cas shrugged. “But then, they’re not very fun tricks to pull on me if he tells me about them beforehand. I say we trust nothing.”

“Always a good plan when dealing with Gabriel.” Sam agreed. 

“Definitely.” Cas said, taking a seat near the birdcage and studying the phoney crow inside. “I take it your father didn’t allow you to celebrate this holiday either growing up?”

Sam smiled sadly and took the seat across from him. “No. He always said there were enough real monsters in the world, that we didn’t need to go imagining more.” 

Cas pursed his lips thoughtfully. Sam had told him the story of Mary Winchester, how she’d died when he was only a few months old, and knew that when John Winchester thought of monsters he would think of the man who had killed her. 

“A man broke into our house.” Sam had murmured, staring at a picture of the lovely blond woman holding a spiky-haired toddler that hung in Sam’s room beside his desk. The little boy in the Thomas the Tank Engine t-shirt was Dean, judging by the bright green eyes and brilliant smile. He looked unbearably happy and Castiel had felt his heart clench knowing what was in store for him and Sam. Sam, who was still just a bump beneath his mother’s shirt, her hand resting lovingly atop his bulk. 

“He was in my nursery. Dad was asleep on the couch. He didn’t hear the guy, but Mom did. She came in to check on me and found him standing over me. Dad heard her scream. The guy was nuts, paranoid delusional or something. He stabbed her in the stomach and lit her nightgown on fire. By the time Dad got upstairs the guy was halfway out the window, shrieking about how the devil wanted me, wanted to get to me. He grabbed me and gave me to Dean, told him to run. He tried to help our mom but she was already gone. He barely got out. The guy got away.” 

“Sam.” Castiel hadn’t been able to say much more than that, offering the soft pressure of his hand on Sam’s shoulder. 

“After the cops couldn’t find him Dad went looking for him himself. He took us with him, said family was the most important thing.” 

“Did he ever find the man?” 

“Yeah.” Sam had sighed, dragging his palm over his dry eyes. “In a psych ward in Nevada when I was ten. He was so doped up he could barely talk. His name was Fred Lane. He’d been missing from his own family for twenty-three years, since he was a teenager. He’d been committed a few years after… after. He’d kidnapped some girl in Oklahoma, said she was a fallen angel and he had to protect her from the demons. She died. The doctors told Dad he would never get out. I think my dad was expecting him to remember us, what he’d done. But he didn’t. Just kept mumbling that my dad was a righteous man.” 

“He told you all this?” Cas had been shocked that John Winchester would share such a horrible story with his sons. 

“No.” Sam had scoffed. “No he never said a word about it. But Dean was there. Dad had left me at Bobby’s place. Dean had refused to be left behind. I was so mad at him when he sided with Dad, told me I needed to stay with Bobby. We both thought that would be the end of it, once we found the man who’d killed our mom.”

“But it didn’t end there?” Castiel had murmured. 

Sam’s sigh had been a weary, sad thing. “No. It never ended. For a decade John Winchester’s life was about revenge, justice, finding the man that had destroyed our family. When he did, when he realized it was just a broken mind too consumed with fear and confusion to even remember what he’d done… I guess he couldn’t handle it. He was already an alcoholic by then, already used to hiding us on the fringes. I guess he just didn’t know how to get back to anything else.”

Sam tapped the toe of Cas’s shoe with his own under the table, jolting Cas from the memory of that terrible conversation. “You ok, Castiel?” he asked gently. 

“Yes.” Cas said, adjusting his bunny ears. “I was just thinking about monsters.”

Sam’s lopsided smile said he knew exactly where Cas’s mind had wandered. “The day _after_ halloween was our big holiday.” He grinned, flexing his shoulders to stretch the costume. Cas heard a seam start to pop. “Dean always made sure we got the cheap post-halloween candy. He used to stuff himself with it and then lay on the couch moaning about his stomach ache all night. Every year.”

Castiel chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” 

“SHOWTIME!” Gabriel cried, appearing again with his helpers behind him. Curtis, Gabriel’s longest-running employee and the unfortunate guinea pig for his more sinister baked-good-based pranks, was dressed as a wolf. Isengrim, Castiel assumed judging from the idiotic expression on his wolf-mask face. Angela, a lovely brunette who had been very nice to Cas since his arrival, was dressed as an orange cat with a gold crown hooked over one large ear. Castiel didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes lingered on her rear end as her tail swished in time with her swaying hips. 

“Tybalt, the prince of cats.” Castiel told him, grinning when Sam’s eyes snapped guiltily up to the ceiling. 

As soon as Gabriel opened the doors people began flooding in and time sped up. Children and their parents were absolutely everywhere, shouting, running, eating, laughing and generally having a wonderful time. For hours they passed out candy and pastries to dozens of children and plenty of adults too, and before Castiel knew it it was nearly two and Jo had arrived. She was dressed in a convincingly gruesome zombie get-up, with at least a gallon of fake blood and putrid green guts spilling out over her belt to trail near the floor. 

“Hey guys.” She lisped around a set of prosthetic yellow teeth. “Nice costumes.”

“Thanks.” Sam said drily, waving a foot at her. “Nice eyes.” She was wearing startlingly white contacts with red-rims around the iris that picked up her purplish red eye-liner.

“Thanks. They’re kind of a bitch on the eyes though.”

“Bloodshot is very zombie, though.” Sam told her.

Jo grunted and looked Sam up and down. “Let me guess, Sasquatch?”

“Samsquatch.” Castiel corrected, stacking dirty plates in a bin as Sam turned to guide the next set of customers to their table. 

“Nice.” Jo grinned. “Oh… fuck.” Her eyes widened as they followed Sam to the door and before Cas could ask what was wrong she had lunged after him, nearly tripping over her fake guts. 

Facing Sam was man nearly as tall as he was, with lovely dark skin and high cheekbones. He was handsome, and cut quite an imposing figure in his suit jacket and dark tie. He looked very out of place amid the color and chaos of costumed customers chattering away around him. Something about his thick lips and narrow brows, the way his large eyes lingered disdainfully over every face was familiar and as Cas followed Jo he suddenly realized who this was. 

“Mr. Finnerman.” Sam greeted him hollowly, his face set in a stiff smile.

“Hello, Samuel.” Raphael’s father said amiably, flashing that same smarmy smirk Raphael used to disarm everyone who didn’t know better. “You’re looking well. At least I think you are, under all that.” He laughed at his weak joke and Sam twitched his hair out of his face. Jo was stalled a few steps behind them, clearly uncomfortable but unsure what to do about it.

“What brings you here?” Sam asked in an impressively casual tone. 

“I’m here to speak to Gabe, if he’s got a moment.” Mr. Finnerman. 

“Donald Finnerman!” Gabe cried brightly, materializing at Sam’s elbow as if summoned. “What could possibly tear you away from work on a Saturday?” Castiel could see the tension behind Gabriel’s easy greeting, his flat, lifeless eyes belying his cheerful tone. He didn’t like this man one bit. 

“Gabe.” Nodded Mr. Finnerman, his voice slick as oil. Cas could immediately see he was in salesman mode, ready to butter up anyone and everyone who came within twenty feet of him. It was horrifyingly disingenuous. “You’ve outdone yourself this year.” Gabe didn’t respond, just smiling pleasantly and forcing Finnerman to continue. “Well, I was hoping to have a word with you about something. In private, if you don’t mind.”

“And you just _happened_ to come on one of the busiest days of my year?” Gabe asked with his frost-bitten smile. “How curious. Shall we step into the kitchen, Donnie?” Cas saw a flicker of annoyance cross Finnerman’s smile at the diminutive. The two of them disappeared into the kitchen and Jo, Sam, and Cas all shared a look. 

“I’ll be right back.” Cas said, slipping out the front door. He crept around the side of the building to the alley by the dumpster, carefully cracking the back door and slipping inside. The little utility room off the kitchen was close enough to hear every word the two men were saying. 

“- Been a bit of unpleasantness I understand.” Donald was saying in a reasonable, patient tone Cas had heard from a hundred school administrators in the past. 

“Oh, you mean when your son threatened my little brother for talking to his girlfriend, when your son had his thugs beat my little brother bloody, or when your son had them spray paint “faggot” across my little brother’s locker?” Gabriel demanded, all pretence of civility dropped. “Oh, no. You mean that your son got suspended for being hammered on school property. Well that had nothing to do with Castiel, he just happened to be standing near Raphael when Chuck Shurley walked by. Bad luck for everyone, I guess.”

Finnerman drew a calm breath. “I know kids don’t always get along,” he continued as though Gabriel hadn’t spoken, “and boys can be a little nasty to one another thinking it’s all in good fun, but when it starts to affect my boy’s academic performance I really can’t let that slide. You understand.”

Gabriel huffed and Cas could imagine the look on his face. “I understand, _Donnie._ I understand that you’re not too pleased with Raphael’s suspension. Makes him look pretty bad on those college applications. What I don’t understand is what the hell you expect me to do about it.”

“Castell isn’t exempt from blame in this whole thing.” Finnerman countered.

“Castiel.” Gabriel corrected.

“Castiel.” Finnerman repeated in a judicious “I’ll allow it” tone. Castiel was almost sure he heard Gabriel’s teeth grinding. 

“Castiel has been increasingly violent, so I’m told. He has attacked his classmates on more than one occasion and been openly hostile towards my boy. Yes, Raphael’s made some poor choices recently, but he is under tremendous stress right now.”

“And who told you that, your _son?_ Yeah, real sure he’s telling the whole truth and nothing but.” Gabe snorted sarcastically.

“Raphael isn’t an angel.” Cas heard the tolerant smile in his voice and cringed. “But it takes two to create a fight. His responses when provoked aren’t always appropriate but which of us can say our own are?” 

“Provoked?” Gabe sneered. “And what exactly did my little brother do to _provoke_ your son? Exist?”

“Castiel has made no secret of his animosity towards my son.” Finnerman pointed out.

“Gee, I wonder why.” Gabe’s eye-roll was nearly audible. 

“And as to the unfortunate locker incident, Castiel may have brought that on himself to some degree. He has flaunted his… nature to several of Raphael’s friends, including his girlfriend.”

“Ex-girlfriend.” Gabe corrected him gleefully. “And what the hell are you talking about, flaunted? He told her he was gay. He said those words. That’s it. You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not.” Finnerman replied in a tone that said he definitely did. 

“Really?” Gabe drawled, picking up the tone just as well as Cas. “Something tells me your pants are on fire, Finnerman.” 

“His sexual orientation is not the point.” Finnerman argued, still trying to use that smooth salesman tone. “It’s his attitude towards the rest of his classmates. Are they not allowed to be uncomfortable with the lifestyle he choses?”

“Oh Jesus Christ.” Gabe cried and Castiel heard a thump as he struck the counter with one fist. “First of all, this isn’t the fucking fifties. It’s not a lifestyle choice to be gay. Secondly, they can be uncomfortable all they like, but that doesn’t mean they can come after him like a fucking mob with pitchforks and torches and spray-paint slurs across his locker with impunity. You act like he put up a ten-foot sign that said ‘I heart cocks’ or something. And even if he did, who the fuck cares? All he did was tell a girl he wasn’t interested in her because he’s gay. Call the fucking pope, society’s going down the toilet!” 

“There’s no need to get nasty.” Finnerman sniffed. 

“I disagree.” Gabriel shot back. “Your son comes after my little brother for no fucking reason other than that he _can,_ sends him to the goddamn _hospital,_ for christ’s sake, and you think you can smooth-talk him out of it. I think we _started_ at nasty, Donnie.” 

There was a tense moment of silence.

“Whether or not I condone them, and I don’t, Raphael wasn’t involved in the tricks his friends pulled.” Finnerman said stiffly, obviously realizing he wasn’t going to get whatever he was looking for out of this meeting.

“ _Tricks_?” Gabe laughed, barely-contained anger simmering in his tone. “I know all about tricks, Donnie. Believe me. Tricks are funny. A trick is cling film on a toilet seat. Humiliating someone because it makes you feel more important is not a _trick_. It’s a dick move, and Raphael is the king of them.”

“Now just a moment!”

“No. Fuck your moment!” Gabe hollered. “You’re pissed because your absolute twat of a son has finally reaped a touch of what he sows and now that it’s his own life that he’s fucking with you suddenly have lost that blind eye you’re so famous for.” 

 A sharp inhale had Cas biting his lip. “I think we’re done here.” Finnerman croaked, his tone frosty. 

“Ya think?” Gabe spat. “Get the hell out of my shop!” 

Without another word Finnerman marched out of the kitchen, the door swinging viciously behind him. Gabriel took a deep, shuddering breath before Cas heard something metal crash to the ground. His older brother was angry.

“Fucking asshole.” Gabriel muttered to himself and Castiel heard him begin to pick up whatever he’d thrown.

Cas took the opportunity to slip back out into the alley and around to the front of the shop. A flashy blue car of some description - Dean would undoubtedly turn his nose up at the foreign maker’s mark - peeled away from the opposite curb and Cas assumed that was Donald Finnerman making his exit. 

He rejoined Sam and Jo just before Gabriel appeared from the kitchen, his smile firmly in place as though the last fifteen minutes had never happened. 

“What was all that?” Jo whispered, peering worriedly at Gabe as he began loudly extolling the virtues of his candied apples to a group of young men in doctor’s costumes. 

“I’ll tell you later.” Cas said, pushing his way through the crowd to Gabriel’s side. He was too mindful of the fake blood all over his arm and Gabriel’s fine vest to hug him, but he squeezed his arm and smiled, letting his gratitude shine in his eyes. 

Gabriel glanced at him, surprised. A moment of studying Cas’s face and he let out a sigh. “You’re picking up some shocking bad habits, little bro. Since when do you eavesdrop?”

“Thank you.” Castiel said earnestly, ignoring the defensive twitch in Gabriel’s eyes. Without another word he took the tray from Gabriel’s hands and made his way around the crowd, offering free samples of Gabriel’s delicious “candied apples”. Many people who would never have trusted the offer from Gabriel were taken in by Cas’s wide blue eyes and he watched Gabriel collapse into a fit of laughter every time someone took a bite of their treat to realize they’d been horribly, horribly tricked. One poor man had to spit his candy-coated onion into the trash can and then stood over it trying not to vomit for a solid three minutes. 

Wiping a tear from his eye Gabriel went to each one of them to offer them a free treat of their choice from the display case as compensation for the prank. 

By the time six o’clock rolled around the whole shop was nearly sold out and the flood of trick-or-treaters had slowed. It would pick up again in a few hours with the teenage crowd, for whom Gabriel had strapped a bucket of candy to a skeleton on a chair outside the shop. There was a clamp in the bucket set to randomly trap hands as they dove in for candy. 

“A bit weak for you, isn’t it?” Sam asked, pulling his hand free to rub at his wrist. 

Gabriel shrugged. “Eh. I’m not going to even be here to watch so what’s the point of going all out? Besides, this way if someone steals it it’s no biggy.”

Gabriel boxed up what little he had left and Castiel, Sam, and Jo helped him load it into his camero. They flicked the sign on the front door to “closed” and locked up early.

“See you there.” Gabe called, climbing into his car and racing off towards the Roadhouse, where Ellen’s yearly party was just starting. 

Cas and Sam climbed into Jo’s little ford and followed a little ways behind, Cas relating all he’d heard in the kitchen. 

“What a douche.” Was Jo’s conclusion, to which Sam nodded his agreement. 

“He pulled the same crap with Dean last year. It went about as you’d expect.”

“Dean didn’t hit him, did he?” Castiel asked with a smile. He couldn’t see Dean having Gabriel’s restraint. 

Sam chuckled. “No. Although I think it was probably a close thing. He just cursed him out and told him to get the fuck out of Bobby’s garage.” 

“I would think that Bobby would want to keep on good terms with the owner of a large car dealership.” Cas said. 

“Nah. Bobby’s got his own reputation in this town.” Sam assured him. “He doesn’t need Finnerman to build up his business.” 

“And he has no patience for that level of assholery.” Jo added. 

“Is that a word?” Castiel asked, fairly certain it wasn’t. 

They arrived at the Roadhouse to find it packed, a much older crowd than Reynard’s. As they shouldered their way towards their usual booth - a small reserved sign written on a napkin is sharpie was placed on the table - Cas noticed that the costume selection was very different. Pamela, one of the waitresses Dean was fond of, was dressed in a very revealing nurse’s outfit.

“I highly doubt that is acceptable work attire in any hospital.” Castiel muttered and Sam snorted. 

“Move it, pinhead.” Jo grunted, shoving a drunk man in a fraternity t-shirt aside and sliding into the booth. She crumpled the napkin and chucked it on the floor. 

“Sorry, babe.” Slurred the stranger, narrowing his bleary eyes. After a moment of staring he shrugged. “Fuck it. Babe, I’m drunk as fuck and you’re wearing a shit-ton of zombie makeup. Are you old enough for me to be hitting on without getting arrested?”

Jo opened her mouth to reply and was cut off by another voice. 

“She’s sixteen. Beat it, asswipe.” 

Alfie had arrived, looking more intimidating than he ever had in a bloodstained leather smock and gripping a hatchet. His hair was gelled straight up and spray-painted white and a pair of cracked goggles hung around his neck. Castiel wasn’t sure exactly what his costume was supposed to be but he looked completely demented. 

“Oh. Cool man.” Laughed the frat boy, clapping Alfie on the shoulder. “Man, Halloween is fucking _dangerous._ ” And with that bit of wisdom he stumbled off into the crowd. 

“Hello, Alfie.” Castiel said as his friend continued to glare after the stranger. Blinking, Alfie turned a smile on them all. 

“Hey guys! Happy Halloween!”

“You too.” Sam laughed. 

Jo grinned, winking. “Nice axe.”

Alfie flushed scarlet through his white makeup. “Where’s Gabriel? And Dean?”

A loud cheer from the bar had them all craning to see Gabriel standing on it, firing cookies from a tray into the waiting mouths of a group of half-drunk college kids. A pretty blond caught one in her teeth and another cheer erupted. 

“I’D LIKE TO BUY THAT YOUNG LADY A DRINK!” Gabriel cried, spinning to fall backwards into the waiting arms of his cookie-catchers. 

“Well that answered the first question.” Castiel smiled, shaking his head. 

“I’m going to go get us drinks.” Jo said, standing. “It’s a fricken madhouse in here.”

“I’ll help.” Alfie offered instantly. “You’ll never make it back without spilling otherwise.”

They disappeared and Cas was left with Sam. 

“We come here way too often.” Sam sighed, knocking his knuckles on the table. “We have our own table.”

Castiel smiled. “It’s only natural. Jo’s mother is here, your friend. Dean works here. Also the burgers are delicious.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times.” Sam laughed. 

“Nice ears, Cas.” 

Castiel blinked to find Dean standing at the end of the table dressed in green surgical scrubs, a white coat, and cowboy boots. A stethoscope hung around his neck and he held a large plastic clipboard in one hand. 

“Hello, Dean. Thank you.” Cas adjusted the headband. It kept migrating to the left for some reason. “You’re a doctor?” Castiel stared at Sam’s hand where it lay on the table, refusing to think about how attractive he found Dean in a pair of scrubs. He found Dean attractive in whatever he wore, but the teal of the fabric brought out his eyes, and something about the stethoscope, the thought of Dean pressing it to his chest, was making it very hard to breath evenly. 

“Dr. _Sexy.”_ Dean corrected, pointing to the name-badge stuck on his coat. “See the boots?” he lifted his foot to show Cas. He wobbled dangerously and Castiel guessed he must have had a few drinks already.

“Oh. The television show you like.” Cas said, wishing he hadn’t blushed at the word ‘sexy’. He hoped his makeup did a better job covering it than Alfie’s had. 

“You’re drunk!” Sam observed with a shocked grin. 

“‘Mnot drunk!” Dean protested, carefully placing his foot down and gripping the table for stability. “I’m just fuuuullllll of holiday spirit.”

“Yeah, vodka.” Sam laughed, waving a hand in front of his face to clear Dean’s breath. “Since when do you drink vodka?”

“Since the hot chick decided we should do shots.” Dean replied easily, his expression going dreamy. Something ugly twisted in Cas’s gut but he shook it off. He was well used to Dean talking about women, especially at the garage where he never seemed to run out of stories for Ash and Benny. Cas doubted half of them were true, and despite his completely irrational jealousy he enjoyed hearing Dean tell them. He had a gift for comedic timing. 

“So, what do you think?” Dean asked, flapping his coat and tugging at the stethoscope. 

“You watch way too much TV.” Sam sniffed. 

“Oh, can it Samantha. You wouldn’t know good drama if it punched you in the face. Cas? Back me up on this. I make a good Dr. Sexy, right?” He spun a teetering turn. 

“I think you are very sexy, Dean.” Cas deadpanned, refusing to look anywhere but straight at him even though he thought his ears might actually be on fire. Sam sputtered slightly and Dean grinned. “You medical skills, however, are highly questionable.” 

Dean burst out laughing and slapped Cas on the back, dislodging his bunny ears. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Jo demanded, setting a drink in front of Sam as Cas stood to let her slide in. 

“Cas here thinks I’m sexy!” Dean beamed, wiping a tear from his eye. 

Jo laughed. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I guess.” 

“Shut it, Harvelle.” Dean chuckled. “Cas has great taste. He’s a fucking… oh what’s the word?”

“Shut in?” Jo suggested.

“Connoisseur!” Dean yelped triumphantly, slapping Cas’s shoulder hard. “That’s what he is! A connoisseur of gentleman beauty.”

“I think you should stop talking, Dean.” Sam suggested as Cas frowned. He had no idea if that was a compliment or an insult, but he was very sure he wanted this conversation to end. 

Dean shook his head and actually _giggled_. “Yes, I should, Sammy. I should very much.” 

“He’s hammered.” Alfie snickered and Dean’s head shot up indignantly. 

He began a protest. “I am-! _I_ am… yeah. I am. Dude, hot girl can hold her liquor.”

“How much did you have?” Sam demanded. He seemed overjoyed to see his brother so drunk. Cas had to admit he had rarely seen Dean intoxicated. It was frightfully endearing. 

“I’m not sure. Six or seven, I think.” Dean said dreamily, staring at Cas’s hand where it rested beside his drink. 

“She probably just wanted to get you drunk and take advantage of you.” Jo informed him cheekily and Cas blanched. He reminded himself it was a joke but the idea of some woman drunkenly groping Dean made his skin crawl.

“I am very take-advantage-of-able.” Dean agreed with a broad wink. “I think maybe I’d better go find her so we can discuss that option a bit.” He turned and ambled unsteadily back towards the bar. 

“Have fun.” Alfie called after him, raising his glass in a toast. He shook his head. “I might be a little drunk, myself.” He admitted. 

“You?” Sam scoffed. 

“Yep. Had two beers before I got here. Becky had a few people over to pregame before heading to Brock Kelly’s party.”

“Who drove?” Jo demanded, her voice dangerous. Castiel would have expected Alfie to shrink from her tone but maybe the beers had given him a touch of courage. He only smiled and slung his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Virgil doesn’t drink. He dropped me off.” 

“Oh.” Jo said, relaxing back into the curve of his elbow. “Fine then.” 

They talked and sipped their drinks, watching the crowd at the bar get drunker and drunker. Gabriel had gathered a large group of admirers, and had one girl under each arm. Castiel was glad he had planned on spending the night in Jo’s basement and wouldn’t have to hear anything unpleasant in the night. Dean had found his mystery blond and Castiel watched him lean close to her, chatting and laughing and looking at her with those eyes. He had a way of holding his face when he was listening to someone, really listening, that Castiel found absolutely mesmerizing. He knew first hand the power of that look, the way everything around him seemed to sharpen to painful clarity, how he could feel the air around him moving when he was under Dean’s gaze. 

When Jo and Alfie went to put their order in to the kitchen, Sam brushed Cas’s forearm. “He doesn’t know he’s doing it.” He said gently.

“What?” Cas asked, guiltily ripping his eyes from Dean’s face.

“He doesn’t realize.” Sam said, tipping his head towards his brother. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” 

Castiel was blushing again but he didn’t mind Sam seeing. “You’re very perceptive, Sam.” He said and Sam ducked his head in apology. “I used to be accused of having no emotions, you’ve heard Rigby call me Android. Yet you picked up on this some time ago, I think.” 

Sam smiled crookedly. “It’s kinda obvious, buddy.” 

Castiel sighed, adjusting his bunny ears again. “I know it’s not realistic.” He said, hoping Sam wasn’t worried about him pining away. “And I’m happy to call him friend. I enjoy spending time with him, the same as I do with you and Jo and Alfie. But…” he shrugged. “I suppose I can’t help but feel drawn to him. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Nah.” Sam sighed. “I get it, man. Just try not to get upset if he flirts with you a little hard. He flirts with everyone. It's just his way. He really doesn’t mean to be a jerk.” 

“Flirts?” Cas blinked, sitting up straighter. “Dean hasn’t flirted with me.”

Sam scoffed. “Dude, I know you don’t have much experience in that department, but trust me. That was flirting.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked again. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam reassured him. “He’s not trying to be an ass. He just is, sometimes.” 

“I see.” Castiel couldn’t seem to stop the repetitive drum of those words in his head, _Dean flirted with me, Dean flirted with me._ Did that mean he had been flirting with Dean? 

Jo and Alfie’s return spared him from having to continue the conversation. They chatted about their different sports and a television program Jo and Alfie watched, something about zombies and a police officer… Castiel didn’t really follow. He was too busy thinking about Dean _flirting_ with him to notice when the subject changed. 

“Who’s this stiff?” Jo asked, pointing to the door where a tall blond man in a black overcoat was peering over the heads of the crowd, his blue eyes searching. They landed on Castiel, widening slightly, and Cas felt his heart constrict in his chest. He went absolutely still, his straw still stuck to the corner of his mouth as the man just stared back at him, something between a smile a frown on his stubbled face.

“Cas? You ok?” Sam asked, patting his arm again. 

“Who is it?” Alfie asked, peering at the stranger. 

Cas licked his lips, his voice a dry croak of disbelief. “Lucifer.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the beginning Reynard’s has been a tip-of-the-hat to Gabriel’s trickster role. I imagine him identifying with this type of character as a kid and have decided that he used to read the Reynard fables (not the ragingly anti-semitic one, but the older ones) to his little brother and sister as bedtime stories, casting himself as the brilliant but morally ambiguous fox. One of my favorite things about Gabe in the series is that he is what I would call a “good guy”, but is also a huge dick with an incredible vicious streak that we see right from season 2 and which only widens as we get to know him more. I think he would definitely identify with a lovable rogue who uses his intelligence to get the better of his enemies but is sometimes a touch too prideful, and whose morals are highly questionable. Reynard really does murder that rabbit.  
> Cas’s bunny ears are a nod to NorthernSparrow, whose work I thoroughly enjoy and was reading when I started this fic. Forgotten and Flight are two of my absolute favorite SPN fanfics with exceptional plot lines and wonderful character development (for Sam especially, who some of you have noted is usually shunted off to one side in Destiel fics). As soon as I read Forgotten I immediately downloaded and devoured everything she had on this site. The ears themselves are a wink to her smut-tastic A Room of One’s Own, which while filthy is also hilarious and full of feels.  
> Gabriel’s helpers are a little throwback to his first episode, “Tall Tales”. Curtis is the name of the frat boy he forces to slow-dance with an alien and Angela Case is the name of the actress who plays one of Gabe’s fabricated candy-and-lengerie girls.  
> Donnie Finnerman is the name of Raphael’s vessel in “Free to Be You and Me”, which is why Raphael’s last name is Finnerman. When it came time for his dad to show up I considered other angels for the role but decided against it. I figured that while my portrayal of Raphael is of a spoiled little shit with a knack for manipulation and intimidation, his father Donald would be a bit more true to Demore Barnes’ portrayal, i.e. more than a little scary. A little of Zachariah’s slick pitch bit snuck in there too.  
> Alfie mentions Brock Kelly throwing a party when he gets to the Roadhouse. Brock Kelly was the actor who played young Dean in “After School Special” and did such a good job bringing out the “oh, god, poor wonderful Dean” feels. And beyond that, Brock Kelly is just the kind of name you hear and immediately think “that guy throws a raging party”.  
> So there are all my little additions to make myself smile. I hope someone caught at least a couple of them but if not, now you know. As always, feedback is life and thanks for sticking with me!


	17. Wood Smoke and Stained Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, guys. Little warning that the M rating comes into play a bit in this chapter. This is my very first time writing anything close to smut so please, please, please be nice. I was blushing the whole time. Alright, here we go…

Dean was drunk. Like, really drunk. Well and truly hammered. 

It had been long time since Dean had been hammered. He missed being hammered. He’d gotten a bit buzzed now and then but it had been years since he’d actually crossed the line in to true, three-sheets-to-the-wind drunkenness. He’d forgotten how great it felt, like his edges were expanding and his whole body was fifty pounds lighter. 

Dean freaking loved Halloween. 

Aside from the candy and the hot chicks dressed in skimpy outfits, there was just a general sense of fun that didn’t seem to happen any other time of year. He could only remember one other year he’d celebrated the holiday, when he was seven and Sam was three. Sammy’d still been a chubby little blob of a kid - well, a chubby big blob - and Ellen had stuffed him into a pumpkin suit with a little stem hat while John had been away tracking down leads or whatever the fuck he did. Dean had been a cowboy, tricked out with chaps and a leather vest and a tiny ten-gallon hat. His boots had even had spurs. And here he was a decade and a half later in cowboy boots again. Except this time he was shitfaced. 

Blond chick - he really should ask her name again, was it Liz? - was kinda boring but hot as hell in a tight black catsuit. She didn’t seem phased by the many, many shots they’d shared and Dean had to admit he found that kinda sexy. 

He grinned foolishly, remembering Cas’s bored tone. _I think you are very sexy, Dean._ Like he’d been reading it off a cereal box. Dean had been weirdly fixated on Cas’s hand where it lay on the table, his smooth, square knuckles and blunt fingertips. Maybe it was the gravel in his voice but something about those words had shot a little thrill down every one of Dean’s nerves. Probably the vodka, actually. 

Lizzy brushed her red-painted nails along his forearm and he redirected his smile at her. “What did you say you’re studying to be again?” he asked, enjoying the warmth of her hand against his wrist. 

“Paralegal.” She breathed, trying to make it sounds sexy. She didn’t really have the voice for it, too whiny and nasal. 

“Right.” Dean nodded, wondering what he was supposed to do with that. He wasn’t even entirely sure what a paralegal was, just that you could get your degree through one of those online courses they always advertised at two a.m. Lorri didn’t seem to mind his total lack of conversational skills, though. She seemed a lot more interested in his body than his brain. The way her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders, his mouth when he smiled, it was a look he had seen before. A look that said talking was the last thing on her mind. 

Dean was a little too far gone for finesse, so he decided to go for efficiency. Leaning forward, he pressed a sloppy kiss to her over-red lips. She responded enthusiastically, sliding one hand up his thigh and her tongue into his mouth. 

_I think you are very sexy, Dean._

Her thumb brushed boldly over the seam of his scrub pants and he gripped her waist in one hand. She had nice hands. A little small maybe, with pointy little fingers. But those fingers they knew what they were doing as they inched up his inseam. Dean huffed out a tiny sigh, slipping his tongue along the edge of her lip and wondering if it wouldn’t be better to feel a little stubble. 

Wait, what? Oh god, he was plastered. He began to laugh into her mouth, pressing his forehead to hers and cupping her smooth, stubble-free jaw. 

“What’s so funny, Dean?” she smiled, teasing his top lip between hers as he giggled helplessly. 

“Your mind ever go weird places on you?” Dean asked, too drunk to filter himself. 

“Fun weird?” Laney asked, a wicked glint in her eye. 

“Weird weird.” Dean shrugged. “Nevermind, let’s try that again.” He brought her mouth back to his, tasting vodka and cinnamon in her slick kiss. 

 

****

 

“Cas?” Sam’s voice seemed far away. “Cas, what do you need?” 

Castiel blinked and tore his eyes from the spectre of his brother at the door. “I don’t know.” He breathed, feeling blank as a sheet of paper. What could Lucifer possibly be doing here? Hadn’t Michael told Gabriel that Castiel was no longer part of the family? Weren’t their ties severed?

Before Cas could find the floor beneath his feet again Lucifer was pushing through the crowd towards him. Then he was there, tall and looming with his blond hair sparkling and blue eyes staring.  

“Hello, Castiel.” He said and his voice was achingly familiar. Instantly Castiel realized how much he had missed his brother, hurt feelings or no. 

“Hello, Lucifer.” He rasped, his throat dry as dust. He never hugged Lucifer, or any of his family but Gabriel, but the impulse was suddenly there, stuck behind his ribs and fluttering madly. 

Lucifer’s smile didn’t touch his eyes. “You’re surprised to see me, I guess.” 

“Very.” Castiel nodded, feeling the ludicrous wobble of his bunny ears. 

Lucifer caught the movement too. “I see you’ve decided to celebrate halloween this year.” He said. Castiel had almost forgotten how difficult it was to read Lucifer. He gave nothing away in either voice or expression, seeming permanently stuck between amusement and distain. 

“I have.” Castiel agreed. “What brings you here?” 

“Business.” Lucifer replied cryptically, smiling as a drunken unicorn stumbled past. 

“I see.” Castiel didn’t recognize the tiny hope until it was crushed, the hope that maybe his brother had come to see him. Suddenly he felt a sharp ache in his chest, like his ribs might be bruised again. Sam placed a hand on his arm and it was amazingly grounding. He shot Sam a grateful look and received a twitch of a smile in return. Lucifer didn’t miss it, his eyes widening slightly. 

He waved a hand at Sam. “Is this your…?” he left the question hanging, his tone revealing nothing of what he might feel about the answer. 

“Sam is my friend.” Castiel said flatly, grateful for the soft squeeze Sam gave him. “Sam Winchester, this is my older brother Lucifer Novak.” He said, slipping back into family manners mode with frightening ease. “Lucifer, this is Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, and Alfie Johnston.”

“My pleasure.” Lucifer said with a nod, dismissing the others with his eyes and focusing entirely on Castiel again. “I will be here for a few days. I can see this might not be the best time, but I’d like to speak with you and Gabriel before I leave. Would that-“ he paused, a flicker of something that might have been hesitance passing across his face. “Would you be alright with that?” 

Castiel stared. Lucifer was _asking_ to speak with him? 

Lucifer sighed. “Here is my cell phone number.” He said, flicking a start white card out of the pocket of his coat and holding it out for Castiel to take. “Call me, if you’d like to talk.” He smiled as Cas took the card in a trembling hand. “It’s good to see you, Castiel.” 

Without another word he spun on his heel and disappeared.  

“Cas?” Jo murmured, leaning into his side and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Alfie glanced nervously back and forth between them, his earlier ease evaporated. 

“I’m alright.” He assured them, though he wasn’t sure it was true. The room seemed different somehow now that his brother had been in it, he seemed different. “Where’s Gabriel? I have to tell him.” He stood, pushing his way towards the bar on unsteady feet. 

He found Gabriel near the far wall, still surrounded by an audience with a girl under each arm. 

“And this idiot just keeps going on and on about it, not realizing it’s sitting in the back window of his car for everyone to see!” The crowd laughed uproariously, a girl pressing tight against him as he chuckled. 

“Gabriel.” Cas interrupted, ignoring whatever ridiculous embellishment Gabriel had planned next. 

“There’s my little honey bunny!” Gabriel slurred, slithering out from between his attending women and draping himself over Cas’s shoulders. He sighed pure alcohol fumes into Cas’s face as he breathed, “How’s if going, Cassie-poo?”

“Oh, my.” Cas said, unthinkingly leaning back from the stench. Both of them would have spilled to the floor if he hadn’t met with Sam’s shaggy bulk directly behind him. He hadn’t noticed Sam follow him but he was glad of the helping hand as he braced Gabriel. 

“Gabriel,” Cas wasn’t sure what to say, so he held out the card Lucifer had given him. Gabriel took it, blinking myopically a half dozen times before he could make it out. 

“Kempfer Bishop Limited,” he read aloud, the words sticking to his lips like molasses. “Hartford Connecticut, Lucifer Novak! Holy shit!” he looked up at Cas with bloodshot eyes. “He’s here?”

“Yes.” Cas nodded. Gabriel spun around, nearly falling all over again as he waved the card at his friends. 

“Do you know what this means?” he shouted, a dozen eyes peering foggily back at him in anticipation. ”We’re all going to hell!” A cheer errupted around them and Sam snatched the card before Gabriel could hurl it at the bar, slipping it back into Cas’s hand. 

“Oh lord above! The devil’s in Lawrence, Kansas and he’s come to speak with me!” Gabriel cried, flinging himself into the waiting arms of his fans. They cheered raucously, hoisting the giggling fox onto their shoulders and carrying him away to the bar. 

“I doubt he’ll be so thrilled by the prospect of reuniting with our brother when he sobers up.” Castiel predicted, glancing at Sam. 

“Seriously, Cas. Are you ok?” Sam’s eyes bled concern and Cas sighed, rubbing at his temple and the sudden headache that had wormed its way past the bunny ears. 

“Honestly, I don’t know. I never once expected to see any of my family again, certainly not so soon. And certainly not here.” He grimaced. “And certainly not dressed as a half-murdered rabbit.” 

Sam bit down on a chuckle, patting Cas’s shoulder in sympathy. “Well, I suppose it could have been worse.” 

“Really?” Cas asked in a tone heavy with doubt. He really couldn’t see how. 

“You could have been a Samsquatch.” 

They laughed and Cas felt a bit lighter, the warmth and familiarity that Lucifer’s arrival had sucked out returning to his surroundings. 

Sam gently steered him around. “Come on, Cas. There’s a bacon cheeseburger and two good friends waiting back at our reserved table. Let’s forget all about this until tomorrow, alright? We’ll figure it out then.”

 

****

 

Dean stumbled to his futon, kicking his cowboy boots across the room and leaving his white coat draped over the little table where he kept his keys. He collapsed against it, throwing his head back a little too fast and watching the ceiling spin.  

He really wasn’t too surprised he ended up alone on the cab ride home, seeing as he was drunker than he could remember being in about the last three years. His hot blond para-whatsit had lost interest after a little make-out session, particularly after he’d called her Laurel. Turns out her name was Catherine all along. Go figure. He was too drunk to even string together a decent apology and she’d decided to try her luck with some college kid a few stools down. Probably just as well. He was too drunk to rock anyone’s world tonight and he _hated_ leaving a girl unsatisfied. He was damn good in bed and proud of it, but he was drunk as fuck and in no shape to be the attentive, energetic partner he prided himself on being. It probably would have just been a disappointing fumble and an awkward goodbye the next morning. 

Dean didn’t mind so much. It had been an achingly long time since he’d had any action but for some reason blond and encased in black pleather just wasn’t doing it for him tonight. It always had in the past of course, but for whatever reason he only felt luke-warm picturing her again. 

Admittedly, she had a killer body. The way the cheap fabric had stretched across her hip when she crossed her legs, the not-at-all subtle display of cleavage as she leaned in closer to touch him…

_Oh, look at that_ , he thought, glancing down at the tent forming in his scrub pants. _Guess I’m not too drunk after all._ Sammy was staying at Jo’s tonight so Dean had no compunction in pressing his palm to his crotch, sighing at the warmth and pressure. 

Yeah, she’d been pretty hot alright, with long, long legs that would probably feel pretty nice wrapped around his head. He slipped his hand inside his scrubs as he pictured her here beneath him, arching off the shitty futon as he did that thing with his tongue that he knew drove most girls up the damn wall. Would she hold him tighter between her thighs? Would she grip his hair in one hand? What sounds would she make? 

He frowned, probably some goddamn annoying ones, come to think of it. She had that squeaky little voice. She probably sounded like a chipmunk caught in a revolving door: Eee! Eee! Eee!

Well, the beauty of jerking off was that he could change all that, make up whatever he wanted in his head. As he began to stroke himself he altered the fantasy. Suddenly her voice was deeper, smoother, like wood smoke and stained glass. Yeah, that was better. She _purred_ as he pressed his tongue into her, moaned when his hands found her breasts. Oh that was _way_ better. 

He caught his bottom lip in his teeth as he brushed his thumb across the head, picturing blond hair tossing across his pillow. Or maybe brown hair. He’d always liked brunettes better anyway. Yeah, dark, dark hair against her pale skin, and blue eyes. Had she had blue eyes? Carol or whatever her name was? He couldn’t remember. Well, fuck it, she had blue eyes now. 

He pushed the scrubs down his thighs so he could cradle his balls in his other hand, rolling them gently as he pictured blue eyes staring at him, blank with need. Blank blue eyes, and dark, long lashes. Just staring. Just watching him as he pushed into her. Oh _shit_ that was good. 

His hips rocked gently as he pictured it, his hands moving faster and little whimpers slipping out with each breath. It had been way too long, goddamnit. Soft skin and maybe a scrape of something harsher. Nails maybe. Long, square-knuckled fingers in his hair. That dusky voice in his ear, urging him on. Almost. He could feel it, building deep in his gut and spiralling up, up, up…

_I think you are very sexy, Dean._  

Suddenly he was coming, a short, sharp jerk curling him forward over his lap. Oh _christ,_ that was good. Every muscle in his body seized up for a full ten seconds before he spasmed twice, three times. Then he flopped back, sprawling limp and hazy across the futon as his dick slowly softened in his hand. He felt fantastic. He felt like every inch of his skin had stretched and yawned and curled up for a catnap. He hadn’t felt this good in years. 

It wasn’t until the next morning when he woke up with a screaming hangover and dried come on his thigh that he realized what the hell he’d done. 

 

****

 

Jo’s halloween sleepover was fun, another marathon of movies Cas had never seen but the rest of them all seemed to know by heart filling the hours until they’d fallen asleep still curled on the couches in the flickering light of the television. He watched his friends faces more than the movies, trying to root his mind in the here and now as Sam had suggested. They’d all changed out of their costumes but there were still traces of makeup on everyone. Dark shadows beneath Sam's eyes, pale smudges across Jo's cheekbone. It leant them all a surreal quality in the dim light, and Cas had the strange feeling that he might wake up to find them all dissolved into nothingness, a passing dream after so many years of drab reality. 

Of course he didn’t. They were all there when he awoke, Jo leaning into Alfie’s side with her arm wrapped around his middle, Sam drooling into a pillow propped on the arm of his chair. Cas watched them sleep for a little while, struck dumb for a moment with gratitude at having found these people. 

He quietly rose and made his way upstairs, unsurprised to find Ellen already seated at the table with a bowl of cereal and a worn paperback. 

“Mornin’, sweetie.” She greeted, an affecionate smile on her face. 

Castiel liked Ellen very much. She was a warm woman, with the same gruff directness of her daughter. She treated Castiel just the same as she treated Sam and Dean, welcoming him with open arms into her home and her life.

“Good morning, Ellen.” He replied, crossing the kitchen to put the kettle back on. He’d stayed at Jo’s enough in the last month to be comfortable poking around her kitchen without direction. He made himself a cup of tea and dug through the cabinet for cereal before joining Ellen at the table. 

“You kids have fun last night?” she asked, setting her book aside. She reached over to push his mussed-up hair back from his forehead in a motherly gesture. These gentle touches were incredibly unfamiliar to Castiel, but he found he quite enjoyed them. He wondered if his own mother had touched him this way when he was small. 

“We did. We watched _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ , _The Shining_ , and _The Exorcism of Emily Rose_.”

“And did you like them?” Ellen asked with a twinkle in her brown eyes. She seemed to find his friends campaign to educate him in pop culture vastly entertaining, and always asked his reactions to their choices. 

Castiel considered. “I enjoyed _The Exorcism of Emily Rose_ and the questions it raised about whether demonic possession and mental illness are one and the same. There was some very startling imagery. The other two… I don’t understand the man in the hotel kissing the woman in the bathtub. That was bizarre.”

“To say the least.” Ellen chuckled, popping a spoonful of cereal in her mouth. 

“And I feel his wife should have known something was wrong sooner and attempted to remove her family from the property. She seemed to spend far too much time screaming and not enough time doing anything useful.” 

Ellen laughed. “Women in horror movies often have that problem, you’ll find.” 

Castiel just hummed and began to eat his breakfast. 

“Joanna told me you had a visitor last night.” Ellen said when Cas had finished and was sipping his tea. 

“I did.” Castiel nodded, Lucifer’s odd half-smile rising in his mind’s eye. “I didn’t expect to see him here.” He admitted.

Ellen smiled and patted his hand gently. “I know you’re family’s a bit of a prickly subject honey, but you just remember you’ve got people here who love you. If you need us we’ll come running.”

Cas felt tears sprouting in his eyes and he gripped her hand tightly. “Thank you, Ellen.” He said. 

Ellen’s expression turned stony. “And if that boy gives you any trouble I’ll kick his ass all the way back to Connecticut myself.” She winked. 

Castiel laughed. 

 

****

 

Dean was half an hour late getting to Singer Auto Sunday morning. His head was pounding and his knees were wobbling as the cab dropped him off. His eyes felt like a bucket of sand had been poured in each one and his mouth tasted like absolute ass despite three rounds of toothpaste and mouthwash. 

And beyond that he was freaking the hell out. 

He’d woken up sated and lazy and dreamy as hell only to realize he’d drunkenly jerked off with shocking success to a vision of dark hair, blue eyes, and a deep, raspy voice.

Cas. 

He had turned his hot blond fantasy chick into a lady-version of Cas. What the actual fuck. 

Ok, so maybe he could appreciate a dude now and then in a way that might not strictly be characterized in every circle of society as one-hundred-percent heterosexual. Fine. Whatever. But jerking off to thoughts of his little brother’s _seventeen-year-old_ emotionally fragile friend? Not. Cool. 

He’d spent about twenty minutes in the shower frantically scrubbing his come-sticky thigh as if that might somehow erase what had happened the night before. It didn’t. 

Cas. Son of a bitch.

Cas was his friend, his buddy. Sammy and Cas were practially besties these days. Cas was Gabriel’s little brother. Cas was freaking jail bait. Cas had recently had his whole life turned upside-down and moved halfway across the damn country to get away from his domineering, queer-hating father and dickbag siblings. The last thing, the very _last_ thing he needed was Dean going all weird over his pretty blue eyes and his man stubble. 

What was worse was it was the best frigging orgasm he could remember having in ages. Despite the booze, despite the fact that it was his own hand and not a soft, warm, willing stranger working his dick over, he had come harder than he ever would have with that blond. 

Shit. Just fucking shit. 

“Hey there, Deany-bear.” Ash crowed in a voice entirely too loud for hungover human ears. Grinning, he slung his arm around Dean’s neck and savagely ground his knuckles against his scalp. “Good to see you decided to show.”

“Fuck off, Ash.” Dean spat, peeling the smaller man off him. 

“Woah, Deany-bear get up on the wrong side of the cave?” 

Dean grunted and lunged for the coffee bar. He tried to ignore the image of Cas’s long-fingered hands sorting through the sugar packets that leapt to the front of his mind as he poured himself a shaky cup. Goddamnit.

“What the hell happened to you, boy?” Bobby demanded, appearing at his office door and looking like someone had pissed in his gas tank.

“Sorry, Bobby.” Dean grunted, his voice slicing up his windpipe like razors. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not. I’m not running a disco here. You don’t just wander in whenever you feel like it.”

“A disco?” Ash laughed, flicking his mullet back. “What is this, 1975?”

“Says the walking ’80’s tribute.” Dean muttered. 

“Cool never goes out of style, Dean-o.” Ash informed him, flicking his fingers on an imaginary drum set. 

Dean was too distracted to make a comeback. He downed his coffee and threw himself into his work, focusing on the weight of the tools in his hands, the rhythm of his breaths as he sank into it. It didn’t shut out the raging panic in his mind, but it soothed it a little. 

Ok. Item one: Cas was a good looking kid. He could admit that easily enough. Item two: Dean hadn’t been laid in an unacceptably long time. Item three: he and Cas had been having a lot of emotionally charged moments over the past month or two. That sort of thing always stuck someone more firmly in his mind than they should be. And the kid smelled like pie all the damn time. Dean was bound to get a few wires crossed. Item four: Dean had had approximately a fuck-ton of vodka last night and a quick make-out session with a hot blond to rev his engine. Item five: Shit happens. The important thing when you make a mistake is to make sure you never, ever, _ever_ make that mistake again. Or let anyone know about the original mistake. So what he was going to do was pretend nothing had ever happened. Chalk it up to drunken shenanigans and move the hell on. 

Yep. That was what he was going to do. Just as soon as he could get the idea of blue eyes and long lashes staring up at him out of his head.

Son of a bitch. 


	18. Speck of Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’m showing my mushy naiveté again here, but after posting the last chapter I hit 100 Kudos and had to do a happy dance. I can’t tell you all how much it means to me to know that someone is out there enjoying reading this story as much as I’m enjoying writing it. All the feedback has been so positive and supportive, and some of the suggestions you guys have made have helped steer me when I get stuck.   
> I’m trying to get as much written during October as possible, as work has me travelling quite a bit in November. I’m also going to try to complete NaNoWriMo for the first time ever. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do but never felt I could follow through with. The support I’ve received on this site is a huge part of what’s made me think I might actually be able to do it this year, so I can’t thank you all enough for that. The little catch of this newfound confidence is that I think it’s going to be a very slow month in terms of updates. Sorry guys. I will try to sneak at least two in but I can’t make any promises. Please stick with me, I promise a flood of updates in December to make up for it!   
> So once again, thank you, thank you for all the encouragement. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I’ll try to keep you entertained through November. If you had a favorite part or something you didn’t think rang true let me know!

“If it were my brother I’d want to hear what he has to say.” Jo said, smearing honey on a bit of toast. They were back in the basement with their breakfast, Cas in the armchair he usually occupied, Sam perched on the couch beside him. Jo and Alfie were sharing the other couch and a tray of leftover breakfast they’d carried down. Alfie was busy trying to pretend he wasn’t watching Jo’s delicate fingers guide the knife, but he chimed in too. 

“Maybe he wants to apologize. He said it was good to see you.” He offered. 

Cas scoffed, rubbing his thumb rhythmically across the embossed lettering of Lucifer’s card. The corners were worn down and smudged from a night spent twirling it in time with the restless spin of his mind. “Lucifer rarely apologizes.” He said. In fact, he couldn’t think of a single time his older brother had ever said the words “I’m sorry.” To anyone. 

Sam sighed. “You want to see him, Cas.” He said, not an ounce of doubt in his voice. “We can all see it. He’s your brother. If you came halfway across the country to see him wouldn’t you at least want him to hear you out?” 

Castiel was silent for a long moment, his hands twisting and untwisting in his lap. “He is my brother, and I do want to see him. But Sam, the last time I did…” a shudder vibrated down his arms. “We hurt each other. Badly.”

“Each other?” Jo repeated skeptically. A stray drop of honey dribbled down her thumb and she licked it up. Alfie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “If I remember your story right he was the one who let your dad tell you that you were evil. He and Michael and all of them just sat there and let you walk out.”

“And I did walk out, don’t you see?” Castiel explained. “I abandoned them all. I threw their beliefs back in their faces and chose what they saw as the wrong path over them.”

“Are you saying you feel _guilty?_ ” Jo demanded, outrage widening her eyes. 

Castiel nodded and Sam grimaced in sympathy. “Just because it hurt me to do it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt them too. I _left_ them. From their perspective I _abandoned_ them. Just like Gabriel.”

“I don’t understand.” Alfie admitted, tearing his gaze away from Jo’s honey-smeared lips. “I thought they treated you like crap. Why should you let them back in now that you’ve got your life going pretty good?”

Castiel sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he tried to find a way to explain. Yes, his home had been a frigid place to grow up, and his family was more about ambition and obedience than affection, but he and Lucifer were still brothers. Cas loved him, though maybe not the same way he loved Gabriel. For years he had looked up to him, admired his intelligence and his determination. After Gabriel had left Lucifer had been the one to check on Castiel, to help him with his homework and push him to do better. He was far more dedicated to their father’s way of life than Gabriel had ever been but there had been a certain amount of affection there, a sense of care and protection. Maybe even of pride, once upon a time. Cas didn’t understand him very well, and Lucifer certainly didn’t understand Cas, but…

“We’re family.” He said finally, shrugging. Sam nodded and smiled in understanding. 

“Big brothers.” He said, shaking his head. 

“Indeed.” Cas agreed. 

“Well then I say you call him and meet up.” Jo said, shoving Alfie when he frowned. 

“What about Gabriel?” Sam asked, a bit better acquainted with the Novak family politics than the others. “I’m guessing he’s not going to be too thrilled to find out one of his big brother’s dropped by unannounced.” 

“It’s unlikely.” Cas nodded. “I think it would probably be wiser for me to meet Lucifer on my own and find out what he wants before informing Gabriel of his presence.” 

“No time like the present.” Sam said, offering his cell phone. 

“I still can’t believe you don’t have a cell phone.” Jo shook her head as Cas inexpertly navigated to the dial pad. 

“My father never allowed one and I haven’t made enough to afford one yet.” Castiel explained for the tenth time. 

“Gabe would get you one.” Jo reminded him. 

“Gabriel has done enough.” Cas shot, not noticing when Jo’s eyes widened at his sharp tone. His movements were jerky as he dialled. It rang twice before Lucifer’s smooth voice answered. 

“Novak.” All the air seemed to be stuck behind Castiel’s ribs, unable to force its way past his frozen vocal chords. 

“Hello?” Lucifer said, a tinge of annoyance coloring his tone. 

“Hello, Lucifer.” Cas managed to scratch out, sounding nothing like himself. Despite that Lucifer’s voice brightened with recognition. 

“Castiel!”

“You weren’t expecting me to call.” Cas didn’t bother to make it a question and he heard the soft half-snort he remembered so well. 

“Not really, no.” Lucifer admitted easily. “I figured Gabe would have taken my card away and burned it, honestly.”

Sam was watching Cas carefully, his mouth tense and his shoulders hunched as if he were seconds away from tackling the smaller boy to the ground and wrestling the phone out of his hands, as if Lucifer might somehow reach through the phone to attack him. It was a strange comfort. Jo and Alfie had excused themselves to the far end of the basement and were chatting quietly. 

“I told him you were here but I doubt he remembers.” Castiel said, keeping his eyes on Sam. He found himself focusing on the gentle curl of Sam’s hair over his left ear. “He was very drunk.” 

Lucifer chuckled and a pin twisted in Castiel’s heart. He must have made a face because Sam flinched and offered a watery smile. “Well I guess we’ve got a grace period then. How about I meet you somewhere so we can chat?” 

Despite his warm tone Castiel winced. He’d never _chatted_ with Lucifer. Chat was the word he generally used when he needed to ream out one of his underlings at work. Chatting with Lucifer was not a pleasant thing. 

“Cas?” Sam whispered, touching his arm. 

“I have work this afternoon.” Castiel said, pulling his sloping spine straight again and staring at the welcome support of Sam’s hand on his wrist. “If you can meet me at quarter to one we can speak there.”

Lucifer was silent for a moment. “Alright.” He said finally. “Whats the address.”

Castiel rattled it off as fast as he could and before Lucifer could say another word Castiel hung up. He handed the phone back to Sam with a trembling hand. Sam took it and slid it back into his pocket. 

“Deep breath.” He advised, patting Cas’s shoulder and inhaling with him. Cas hadn’t realized how close he was to hyperventilating. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Got it?”

Cas nodded, repeating the exercise until his pounding heart had returned to a more acceptable human pace. “I don’t understand.” He admitted shakily as Jo and Alfie came back over. Jo settled beside him in the armchair and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. 

“He’s your brother.” Sam shrugged. “You want to see him but you’re scared of what he might do. Or say.”

“But why?” Cas demanded, exasperated with his wild emotions. He was so often accused of not having them at all, but the truth was he wasn’t used to emotions he couldn’t clearly categorize. Normally he was very adept at acknowledging, labelling, and dealing with his emotions in an orderly and logical manner, but this last year had been hell on his nerves. Some days he barely even recognised himself. “I know he disapproves of me, I know that. And yet I…” he growled in frustration. Jo’s had tightened around his arm and he felt the soft slide of her hair against his temple. He leaned into it, grateful. 

Sam just quirked another half-smile and shrugged. “Hope is scary, Cas.” He said.

 

****

 

Dean had managed to shake off his funk by noon and had actually made decent progress on a mangled 1974 pinto. It was a restoration-gone-wrong - though why anybody would go to the trouble of restoring the old hatchback was beyond him. Must have been a sentimental car for the old guy who’d brought her in, which Dean could definitely understand. He thought of Baby, sitting neatly in her private driveway at the apartment, and the huge chunk of his life that had been spent in that car. Sammy’d grown up in it. One of the proudest moments of his life was when his dad had handed him the keys. All his best days were in that car, or at least most of them. And quite a few of his worst. The worst of all, definitely. 

Sam had almost died in that car. Dean could still scarcely believe he hadn’t. Seeing her like that, a twisted hunk of smoking metal, the front axle snapped, her engine surging up out of the torn hood like a breaching whale, knowing Sam had been _in_ her when she’d slammed to a savage halt against the tree. Six months later and it still nearly stopped his heart in his chest. 

“Dean?” 

Dean looked up to find Benny’s blue eyes peering at him over the roof of the car. Bobby and Ash had gone to lunch leaving just the two of them to wait for Cas to get in at one. Sundays were usually pretty quiet and Dean had spent most of the morning trying to lose himself in work with moderate success. Now that he had a few cups of coffee in him he was feeling a bit more human but apparently not enough to pay attention. 

“You hear a word I said, brother?”

“Sorry, Benny.” Dean sighed, wiping his hands on his thighs and trying not to think too hard about how the first thought in his mind had been _not as nice as Cas’s blue._ Goddamnit. “Did you need something?”

Benny shook his head, leaning one hip on the Pinto’s door and crossing his arms across his broad chest. “You been squirrelly all mornin’. Something happen?”

Dean chuckled. Now there was a can of worms he really didn’t want to open, especially not with Benny. “Just had a rough night.” He shrugged. Not entirely accurate. His night had been fricken great. It was the morning that had sucked. “Drank too much and went home alone. You know that always puts me in a bad mood.” 

Benny nodded but looked unconvinced.“You’ve been off your game a bit lately.” He observed casually. “Sure there ain’t nothin’ you want to talk on?” 

Dean smiled. He would never get tired of Benny’s molasses-and-mesquite drawl. “Nah, brother.” He drawled back, slipping into the beginnings of the accent he’d picked up in the two years he’d lived in Texas with John and Sammy as a kid. Sammy’d never picked it up but Dean had never quite manage to kick it. Whenever he spoke to another southerner it came back and with Benny it was practically a permanent feature. 

“Well, you let me know if that changes, hm?” Benny shrugged, shrugging out of his coveralls and heading for the office. “I’m out for the day. Be back Tuesday. You got my number if you want to use it.” 

“Sure thing.” Dean nodded, glad Benny knew when to offer help and when to back off. Dean had been doing entirely too much sharing and caring lately. That was why he was off his game. 

As Bobby gathered his things and waved goodbye, Dean glanced at the clock and realized that he only had another twenty minutes to collect himself before Cas showed up. He was determined not to be weird around the kid today. It wasn’t Cas’s fault if Dean couldn’t control his screwed up thoughts, and he was damned if he was gonna let Cas think he’d done something to piss Dean off. He would be totally normal. Just another day at work. 

“Excuse me.” A soft voice called from the door. Dean turned to find a tall man with pale blond hair and an uncertain frown on his face. He had thick lips and a prominent brow, and was wearing one of those swanky wool coats you always saw tv lawyers in. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar but Dean shook it off. 

“Can I help you?” He asked, stepping towards the stranger with a friendly smile. 

“I think I may have the wrong address.” The stranger smiled back. “You don’t have a Castiel Novak working here, do you?” 

Dean pulled up short. Who on earth could this slick-looking suit-type be that he would come looking for Cas? “Who wants to know?” he asked, trying to keep his tone friendly and failing miserably. 

“So yes, then.” Chuckled blondie, looking around the garage. Dean didn’t like the way his pale eyes slid over everything, like it was some foreign exhibit in a museum. And the longer he looked the harder he chuckled, until he was actually holding his ribs with one hand. 

“Something funny?” He demanded, all attempts to remain friendly forgotten. 

“No.” The stranger giggled, clearing his throat and smoothing his tie. “No. Nothing at all.” He said. “Would you have somewhere I could wait for him? He asked me to meet him here.”

Dean scowled. “Sure.” He said, waving his hand at the battered leather desk chair that Cas had added to the coffee bar. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr. …?” the man made a vague gesture. 

“Winchester.” Dean grated. 

The man blinked. “You must be Sam’s brother.” He said, holding out a broad hand for a shake. 

Now how the hell did this slick fucker know Sam? “Yeah. You from the school or something?”

“No.” His smile was thin-lipped and false but Dean took his hand anyway. “I’m-“

“Dean.” Breathed a shocked voice. 

Two heads turned to the door to find Castiel standing wide-eyed and pale, one hand gripping the door-frame so hard the wood squeaked. His eyes flicked back and forth between Dean and the taller man with the closest thing to horror Dean had ever seen on his normally stoic face. Any worry he had about embarrassing himself or getting tongue-tied the minute he saw Cas went out the window, shoved to the very back of his head by that terrified expression. 

“Cas?” Dean asked, dropping the stranger’s hand and taking four quick steps over to the kid. He gripped him by the shoulders, sure he was about to keel over. “Cas, you okay, buddy?” Cas sagged into his hands for a moment before he blinked, straightened, and pushed Dean’s hands away. Cas wasn’t even looking at him, instead he was staring over his shoulder at the man in the black coat. His eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a grim, determined line 

“Lucifer.” He said with a sharp nod and Dean felt every muscle cell in his body lock up at once. Something swept through him, something dark and vicious and frightening as he realized that this was one of Cas’s brothers. 

He turned slowly, the hairs on the backs of his arms rising as his shoulders bunched beneath his jumpsuit. The world seemed to narrow down to the line between Lucifer, Dean, and Cas, just a ten foot gap that he could easily sail across, fists leading. He kept himself between Cas and the taller man, one hand unconsciously shoved against Cas’s hip to keep him in place, safe behind the wall of Dean’s body.

“Lucifer?” he repeated, barely aware of how deadly flat his voice had become. “As in one of the dickbags who just let you walk out of your house when your dad hit you in the fucking face?” Lucifer’s blue eyes widened and some distant, still-rational part of Dean’s brain realized that they were nearly the exact same blue as Cas’s. The rest of Dean’s brain drowned it out with demands for immediate and violent action. 

“Dean.” Cas placed a hand on his arm but Dean shook it off, shoving his hip again and glaring at Lucifer. 

“Lucifer your _brother?_ ”

“Yes, Dean.” 

“Your brother. As in the one who was supposed to take _care_ of you? To look out for you? To keep you fucking _safe?_ But instead let you leave home with nowhere to go and nothing but twelve frigging bucks in your pocket? _That_ Lucifer?”

He wasn’t at all embarrassed by the sharp curl of satisfaction he felt when Lucifer winced. 

“Dean.” Cas repeated more firmly. “Please. It’s alright.” He slipped around to Dean’s side, touching his clenched fist gently. Dean glanced at him, relieved to see that some of the fear had melted off his face. He still looked a little shaken but that blank calm had returned a little. Dean let his breath explode from his nose as he consciously tried to loosen his aggressive stance. 

“Cas, you ok with him being here?” he tried not to let it sound like an accusation and Cas stroked the back of his fist with one finger. A light stripe of red was painted across each of his cheekbones and that quiet, back part of Dean’s brain noticed that it made his eyes even bluer. 

“I don’t know yet, Dean.” He admitted quietly, as if Lucifer weren’t standing right there listening. “He came to the bar last night. I wanted to hear him out before Gabriel finds out.” 

Dean snorted, glancing over to Lucifer, who was politely looking at the pinto instead of the pair of them. “I’ll bet Gabe’ll be fucking thrilled to see him.”

“So thrilled that I haven’t told him about this little meeting.” Cas agreed with a sad smile, glancing at Lucifer. “I thought this would be a better place to meet him than Reynard’s. I’m sorry I didn’t think to warn you.” 

Dean sighed, forcing his hands to open. “As long as you’re ok.” He said grudgingly. He looked back at Lucifer - stupid dick name to match his stupid dick face - and frowned. 

“I’m alright, Dean.” Cas assured him. “Is it alright if we use Bobby’s office to talk?” 

“Sure. I’m out here if you need me.” Glaring once more for good measure, he turned back to the pinto. He heard the snick of Bobby’s office door as it closed behind them and sighed. 

Cas was a big boy. He could handle his brother. He’d just looked so damn scared…

Dean shook his head to clear it. Work. He had to get back to work. 

He spent the next twenty minutes taking apart the pinto’s dash and trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t listening as hard as he could for Cas’s voice through the office door. 

 

****

 

The brass handle was cold in Castiel’s hand but he hung onto it for a moment, staring at his feet as he braced himself. It had been a shock to see Dean and Lucifer shaking hands, and even more of a shock to see Dean’s reaction to his brother’s name. 

He’d bristled like an angry dog, going from friendly ease to aggression in under a second. Castiel had seen Dean on edge before, when he was woken suddenly or when Sam was upset, but he’d never seen it triggered on his behalf. It was unexpected, definitely, but there was something hot blooming in his chest at the thought of Dean getting that way because of him. 

“Another friend of yours?” Lucifer asked in an overly casual tone. 

Castiel looked up, frowning. “Dean has been very kind to me.” He said sternly, watching the minute widening of his brother’s eyes. “And he has very strong feelings about family.” 

Lucifer nodded but looked away, ostensibly to inspect Bobby’s office furnishings, but Cas recognized the tiny twitch of his pinkie. It was one of Lucifer’s only tells, and as it wobbled back and forth Castiel realized his brother was just as nervous as he was. 

“Why have you come here?” Castiel asked bluntly, letting go of the door handle and leaning against the filing cabinet. 

Lucifer smiled. “I had business in Kansas City. I knew from Michael that you were with Gabriel and I thought I would stop in and…” he shrugged. 

“What?” Castiel prompted. 

“Check on you.” Lucifer said his pinkie twitching madly. “As your friend pointed out,” he motioned to the office door and Dean’s smudged silhouette through the glass, “you weren’t in the best of positions when you stormed out of our father’s house that night. I wanted to make sure you’d landed on your feet, so to speak.” 

Cas peered at Lucifer, at the deliberate ease of his stance, his vibrating pinkie. “That’s not why.” He said confidently. He loved his brother, and as much as he wanted there to be no ulterior motives in this surprise visit he simply couldn’t believe that he would show up halfway across the country just to ‘check in’. 

Lucifer sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “You’ve grown teeth, Castiel. You never used to talk like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you expected anyone to listen.” Lucifer smiled, looking for a moment so like Gabriel that Castiel’s arms ached to hug him. “Is this Gabriel’s influence?”

Castiel smiled grimly. “In some part.” He admitted.

“Well I’m sure he feels the sting of them himself often enough.” Lucifer laughed. “Serves him right.”

Castiel’s smile turned a bit less grim. “He does. Why are you really here, Lucifer?” For a long moment he was silent, his lashes shading his eyes from Cas. When he looked back up the smile was gone. 

“Our father is unwell.” He said, his voice flat and emotionless. 

Cas blinked. “Unwell.” He repeated, failing to make it into a question. 

“He had a minor stroke.” The way he recited it told Cas that he had said it a hundred times by now.  

“How minor?” Cas demanded, a bizarrely painful bolt of dread lancing through his chest. His father was ill. His father was never ill. Something must be terribly wrong for Lucifer to come all this way to tell him. There was also a tiny, tightly curled emotion lodged deep in the back of his head that he chose not to look at too closely just now. 

“He was hospitalized for a few days of observation.” Lucifer sidetracked. Cas was having none of that. 

“How minor?” he repeated more firmly. 

Lucifer sighed. “He has lost the feeling in his left pinkie and ring finger and has compromised the vision of his left eye. Other than that there seem to be no lasting mental effects. He was disoriented for a few days but he seems to have recovered fully from the aphasia.”

“Aphasia.” Castiel repeated numbly. 

“An inability to recognise language.” Lucifer explained, keeping his tone clinical. “He didn’t suffer any memory loss as far as the doctors can tell but sometimes that can be difficult to assess.” 

Cas nodded, not really sure why he was doing it. A stroke. A minor stroke. How could a stroke be minor? 

“Anael has taken charge of his work for he time being while he rests. The doctors have advised him to avoid stress while they try to pin down the cause of this episode. Michael is, of course, managing his finances and organizing his care. I have helped him make out a will.” For a brief moment something close to anguish passed over Lucifer’s face but then it was gone. 

“Did he send you here to tell me this?”

Lucifer’s smile was brittle. “No. He and Michael are only aware of my trip to Kansas City. I thought it best not to inform him of my intention to see you. It would only upset him.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why come all the way here to tell me this?”

Lucifer frowned. “Because he is your father and he is ill.”

Cas gave and ugly snort. “I am no longer part of his family. He and Michael have made that very clear.” Cas tried to keep the venom out of his voice but he could hear it anyway. 

“He loves you, Castiel.” Lucifer murmured, looking down again. “He has always loved you.” 

“Loves me?” Castiel laughed. It was a harsh, crackling sound. Lucifer stilled as Castiel stared him down, straightening his spine and clenching his fists. His eyes were flooded with tears as he began to shake. “Father doesn’t even _know_ me. None of you did. Not one of you.”

Lucifer was silent a moment, his face unreadable. Then he shoved off the desk, coming to stand in front of Cas. Castiel had almost forgotten how tall his brother was, so much taller than Gabriel. As tall as Sam. He loomed over Castiel, one hand landing heavily on his shoulder. 

“I thought you would want to know what is happening. Maybe I was wrong. I don’t expect you to come back and I can’t undo what he did. But he _is_ your father and he _does_ love you. I thought you should know.” 

Cas bit his lip to keep from shouting. He wanted to tell his brother that what their father felt for him wasn’t even close to love. Love wasn’t judgement. Love wasn’t damnation. Love wasn’t a strike in the face and a demand to changean essential part of himself. After Gabriel left Castiel even forgot what love felt like. It had taken distance to really see the hollow truth of his childhood, how love wasn’t a part of it at all. His father didn’t understand love, only ambition and control. He wanted to tell Lucifer that. But all the words were stuck behind his clenched teeth. Lucifer stared at him a minute more before releasing his shoulder and stepping around him to the door. 

“I will be in town until Tuesday afternoon. If Gabriel would like to speak to me in that time you have my number. Goodbye, Castiel.”

Cas didn’t watch him leave. He heard the click of the door as it closed behind his brother, the footsteps fading as he walked through the garage. Then for a few minutes all he could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears and his ragged breathing. He jammed his fist into his eye angrily, trying to parse out the emotions boiling through his head. 

Anger. Anger was definitely on top. Anger that Lucifer would come here just to try and guilt Castiel into… into what, coming home? Changing his ways? Admitting that he had been wrong all along? Well that wasn’t going to happen. He had never lied about who he was, and he wouldn’t pretend to be anything else just to ease his father’s stress. 

Guilt came next. Was this his doing? He’d seen his father after Gabriel left, watch him retreat from the family as he always did when things were difficult. He was not the type of man to wallow. Instead he threw himself so hard into work that he nearly disappeared altogether. He’d sleep nights in his office, sitting up in his chair when his body finally betrayed him. Maybe Castiel was being selfish. Despite the last year this was the man who had raised Castiel, the man for whom Castiel had worked so hard, tried so hard. A sick and frightened man who shared Castiel’s blood. Shouldn’t he be willing to do anything to help his father? Just because his feelings were hurt would he let the stress of his decision to live honestly drive his father to another stroke? He should be crawling back on his knees if it meant that his father might get better, if it would relieve his suffering. 

Panic. He didn’t want to lose anything else. Not his life here, his friends. He couldn’t go back to Connecticut. But could he stay, knowing his father might die without Castiel ever seeing him again? He’d thought his father was already lost to him, but this was so much more final. Sam was right, he had been hoping, somewhere deep down, that all this might be resolved some day. That his father would apologize, see things Castiel’s way, learn to overlook this side of him that he found so repellant and love him for who he was. The idea that he might never get that chance was terrifying in a way Castiel couldn’t begin to fathom. 

“Cas?” Dean’s knuckles rapped softly on the door, calling Cas out of his head and back to reality. He turned to find his friend shuffling hesitantly in the doorway, his fingers flexing nervously on the door. “You ok, buddy?” 

Castiel turned to face him, nearly numb as tears coursed down his face. Then suddenly he was being hugged, one of Dean’s arms looped around his waist and the other pressing Cas’s head into Dean’s neck. 

“Hey.” Dean hushed as a great wracking sob ripped through Cas’s chest. “Hey, hey. You’re ok, Cas. You’re ok.” 

Wriggling between the big, ugly feelings twisting in his gut came one calming, lovely truth. One speck of clarity in an muddy mess of wrath and remorse: _This is how love feels_. 

 


	19. Crossed Wires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets the feels but no one feels like sharing. Not even Sam.

“Damn, it’s cold.” Dean’s voice broke the silence that had dominated their afternoon. 

They were waiting out behind the garage for Bobby to finish closing up, huddled in on the bench seat of the beaten old pick-up he would take them home in waiting for the heater to kick on. Cas was still pale, looking small and fragile in the auburn evening light and Dean had the same desperate instinct to hug him that he’d had hours before. He settled for leaning a bit closer and pressing his hands over the heating vent. 

“Should start working in a minute.” He grunted. Cas remained silent.

Dean had been surprised when Lucifer had left Bobby’s office alone, but he hadn’t stormed out or anything Dean hadn’t heard any shouting, nothing being thrown around like there probably would have been if it was him and Sammy in there reuniting. When Lucifer gave him a polite nod on his way out Dean figured maybe Cas just needed a minute to collect himself. After all, it had been months since he’d seen his brother. He was bound to be a little unsteady after he just showed up like that. 

But as the time had stretched on he started to worry. By minute seven he’d decided he couldn’t wait any longer and knocked. The look on Cas’s face, that frightened, angry swirl in his eyes, Dean hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just moved. And suddenly he was hugging Cas, holding him up as he shook like a leaf. 

“M-my father.” Cas had gasped out, his breath hot on Dean’s neck. “A stroke.” 

That was all the kid had managed to say as his fingers twisted over Dean’s shoulder blades and he burst out in ugly, wracking sobs. He cried. He cried for a long time, sobbing and snotting all over Dean’s shoulder. And weirdly enough Dean hadn’t given a good goddamn about that. It didn’t make him squirm or force a corny joke out of him the way emotional displays always seemed to. Instead he just squeezed harder, pressing his cheek hard into Cas’s temple and stroking his back as he trembled. 

“I’m sorry.” He’d said over, and over again. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” 

When it was over, when Cas had managed to drag the ragged bits of himself back together enough to stand on his own two feet, Dean had tried to convince him to go home. But tough little nerd that he was he just shook his head, dragging his fingers beneath his eyes to clear the tears and started tidying Bobby’s office. 

Dean had kept an eye on him the rest of the day, ready to catch him the second he started to falter. The kid had been running on autopilot, just walking around like a zombie all lost in his head. He’d only stopped to drink when Dean pressed a cup of coffee into his hands, only answered Bobby’s questions the third time he asked them. By the time six o’clock finally rolled around Dean had been ready to drag the kid back to Gabriel’s by force. 

“Dean?” Cas grated into the silence.

“Yeah?” Dean answered, looking up to find Cas still gazing fixedly through the windshield. 

Cas was quiet a moment longer, the chapped skin of his bottom lip sticking to the top as he parted them in a sigh. “Do you love your father?” he said finally. 

Dean blinked. What was that supposed to mean? Well, after the day he’d had Cas deserved an honest answer, not the dodge Dean might have tried any other time. “Yeah, Cas. I love my dad.” 

“Would you do anything for him?” Cas asked, still staring at nothing. 

“Anything?” Dean repeated, twisting his lips in thought. Would he do anything for John? “Once upon a time.” He decided finally. “A year ago, two years, I’d have said yes. No question. But… things change, I guess.” 

Cas’s head swung towards him and Dean was pinned under that blank stare. “What changed?” he asked flatly. 

Dean sighed. “I dunno. Maybe changed isn’t the right word. He’s the same guy he ever was, at least since I can remember. I just see it clearer now, you know?” Cas just stared at him and Dean sighed again. “Look. Last year… Sam was messed up. Really messed up. I couldn’t handle it. I thought I could. I practically raised the kid, you know? Dad was almost never around and half the time he was he was so lit he barely knew who we were. Bobby and Ellen took care of us when we were little but since I was old enough to hold a gun I was in charge of looking after Sammy. 

“And when he was… messed up… I tried to,” he shook his head, tunnelling his fingers through his hair in frustration. He couldn’t talk about this kind of shit and make sense. “Dad didn’t talk about stuff. All that child-psychology stuff you see on Sesame Street and shit, talking it out, sharing and caring and all that… that’s not how he worked. You did something dumb he yelled at you. You did something dangerous he smacked you. You tried to stand up and make him see it your way and he’d just bear down harder on you ’til you broke. I guess I tried the same thing with Sammy without really realizing. Problem was it doesn’t work like that though, not with Sam.” 

Dean smiled, thinking of how it had never worked with Sam, even when he was a little kid. The harder John pushed the harder Sam pushed back. You didn’t break Sam Winchester. “So I bore down and just ended up pushing him over the edge. That’s what I learned from my dad, how to push the people you love away. It almost cost Sam his life.”

“His life?” Cas murmured, his detached mask slipping. 

Dean cast him a sideways glance, seeing fear in his face. “Guess he hasn’t told you about that mess yet. Well, towards the end, when things were really bad, he was in a car accident. We had a fight, a big blow out about Ruby and… and all that shit. I gave him an ultimatum. A choice. I tried to force him to make the right decision when he wasn’t ready to, to bully him into it. He was pissed. And he took off in the impala. He was high so he let that demon-bitch drive. Didn’t know she was even higher than he was.” He didn’t bother trying to disguise the hatred in his voice as he pictured the brunette shrew, her sneering smile as she hung off Sam’s arm. “She wrapped my baby around a tree and nearly killed the both of them.” He snorted mirthlessly. “The trooper couldn’t believe Sam was conscious. The guy who came to tow her to Bobby’s asked where the bodies were.” Dean dragged in a ragged breath, fighting the bright flash of anger that raced along every nerve. If he ever saw that bitch again…

Cas’s fingers tight around his wrist brought him back to the present.

“Anyway,” Dean breathed, shaking himself. Cas retreated back into his own space. “I’d do anything for Sammy, because Sammy’s the one that deserves it. Our dad doesn’t. I love them both, ‘cause they’re my family, but my dad doesn’t get the ‘drop everything’ treatment anymore.”

“Why?” Cas’s voice was so soft and still that Dean didn’t even consider lying. He just laid it all out there.

“When Sam was in the hospital he didn’t even call. I left him messages, Bobby even talked to him. And dad couldn’t even pick up the damn phone. So no, Cas. I wouldn’t do anything for my father cause he hasn’t done anything for me in a long time.” 

“But is that how love works?” Cas sighed, his gaze drifting back out the windshield. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours? It seems so cold.” 

“It’s not scratching his back, Cas.” Dean growled. “It’s letting him hurt us. Over and over. It’s depending on him and getting let down when we needed him. It’s loving him and getting jack shit back. Love isn’t a scoreboard, it’s not tit for tat. It’s not about some freaking contract you have to fulfil or hours you have to put in. It’s about knowing, right down in your gut that this person deserves everything you can give ‘cause they’re worth everything you got. And my dad, well he’s just not.” 

Cas sighed, dropping his head back over the seat. Dean wished he knew what was going on in his head. 

“Did your brother ask you to go home?” he guessed. 

“No.” Cas replied. “Lucifer said my father didn’t ask for me. He doesn’t even know Lucifer is here. But I remember how much it hurt him when Gabriel left. He was angry for a long time. I know that my leaving had to wound him. I can’t help feeling responsible-“

“Hey, knock that shit off right now!” Dean barked. “It’s not your fault your dad had a stroke. This shit happens, Cas.”

Cas didn’t answer. 

“Cas, if you want to go see him that’s ok. If you don’t want to see him that’s ok, too. If you want to call him or write to him or send him a damn telegram go for it. If not, it doesn’t make you a bad guy. The guy hurt you. You trusted him and he fucked that up, big time. And if you go back now there’s every chance he’s gonna do it again. And you don’t deserve that, Cas. Just because you love him doesn’t mean you owe him shit.” They were silent a moment more, the soft sigh of traffic the only sound besides their breathing. 

The crunch of the driver’s side door made Dean jump as Bobby swung his bulk into the truck. They squished closer together as he slammed the door and slammed the gearstick with the heel of his hand. “Alright, boys. Who’s getting dropped off first?” 

Bobby must have noticed the tension today but in true Singer fashion he hadn’t mentioned it. Dean was insanely grateful for that. 

“Cas first.” Dean said before Cas could protest. They drove in silence until Bobby flicked on the radio with a grunt. Harry Chapin was crooning about silver spoons and with a grimace Dean changed the station. He could suck it up and talk about shit if Cas needed him to, but he was damned if he was listening to Cats in the Friggin’ Cradle. That was the last thing either of them needed.

They reached Reynard’s just as the sun was going down and Dean slid out of the truck to let Cas out. They stood for a moment looking at one another, a small smile brightening Cas’s solemn face. 

“Thank you, Dean. I’m glad you were there today.” He said, his lashes falling shyly over his eyes. Those frigging lashes. 

Dean smiled and clapped Cas on the shoulder, letting his fingers dig into the muscle a little deeper than he probably should. “Me too, buddy.” He said. “See you Tuesday?”

“Yes, Dean. Though I would guess you’ll see me before at the Roadhouse.”

Dean laughed. “Probably. Get some sleep, kid. Don’t let it keep you up, ok?” 

“I’ll try, Dean.” Cas’s fingers brushed over Dean’s knuckles where they rested on his shoulder before he turned and disappeared through the door to Gabe’s apartment. 

Dean watched the door close behind him, a strange something twisting in his gut. 

“You gonna stand there ’til I run out of gas, boy?” Bobby demanded from the driver’s seat. Dean jumped back in the cab and slammed the door, thinking of the weight Cas’s sad little smile had lifted from his chest. 

 

****

 

When Castiel entered the apartment Gabriel was waiting for him. He sat on a stool at the kitchen island hunched over a bowl of lucky charms, his spoon drooping between loose fingers. He looked terrible. Bloodshot eyes and tangled hair said he hadn’t recovered yet from all he’d drunk last night, but it was the look on his face that told Castiel all he needed to know. 

“You’ve spoken to Lucifer.” Cas breathed. 

“Yup.” Gabriel said, letting the ‘p’ pop loudly. 

“I tried to tell you last night.” Cas apologized and Gabriel snorted. 

“Yeah. Remembered that the second I heard his voice on the phone.” Gabriel dragged a palm over his face and let his spoon splash into the bowl. “He said he went to see you at the garage. Bet that was a barrel of fricken laughs.” 

“Not really, no.” Cas sighed, hanging up his coat. He couldn’t remember ever being this exhausted. The party last night, the phone call, Dean’s protectiveness, Lucifer just _there_ \- in Bobby’s garage, the guilt, the tears, Dean’s hand gentle on his hair as he wept… It was like someone had reached down inside him and scooped out every single ounce of emotional energy he possessed and then force-fed it back to him. Now it was all just sitting in his gut, churning and confused and restless. “Did he tell you about father?”

“Yeah.” Gabe sighed. “Daddy dearest had a minor stroke. Not sure how I feel about it.” 

“Neither am I.” Cas admitted. “It was… strange to see Lucifer again.”

“I’ll bet.” Gabe said with a sarcastic smile. “Did he give you the pokerface the whole time?” 

Cas nodded. “His pinkie was twitching though.”

Gabe snorted. “Classic Lucy tell. Guy’s gotta be pretty wound up to come out here in secret. He didn’t even tell Michael. What do you think he wants?”

Cas frowned. “I don’t know. But I know I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He decided. He marched to the freezer and dug out a tub of Gabriel’s homemade chocolate sorbet. Grabbing a spoon from the drawer he settled beside his brother and dug in. 

“Before dinner, Cassie?” Gabriel grinned, quickly shunning his cereal in favor of stealing Cas’s treat. 

“You’ve been a bad influence, Gabe.” Cas informed him. 

“Since when do you call me Gabe?” Gabriel laughed, knocking Cas’s hand out of the way to grab a spoonful. 

“The Winchesters have also been bad influences.” 

Gabe laughed again. “You need some bad influences in your life.”

Cas nodded and dug out an enormous spoonful of sorbet. “Definitely.” He agreed. 

 

****

 

Dean found Sam asleep sitting up in his armchair, a textbook open on his lap. He smiled and muttered “nerd” as he gently lifted the book and set it aside. Sitting down on the futon he spent a moment just looking at his little brother, thinking how goddamn lucky he was to still have Sam here. He tried not to think about it too often because it just made him angry and scared and those were two things Dean didn’t really need any more than he already got the, but talking with Cas had reminded him that it could have been over, so quickly. His heart threatened to burst with the pressure of that reality, and for a moment it was all he could do to count his breaths as they slowly synced with Sam’s. 

He was so lucky. They were both so lucky.

A slow, wicked grin unfurled across his face as he took in his brother’s slack expression. Well, lucky or not he wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. He hadn’t gone that soft just yet. 

He crept into the kitchen, his socks silent on the linoleum and came back a moment later, a large pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. After all, what was the fun of having a brother all alive and healthy and here and shit if you couldn’t piss him the hell off once in a while? 

So it was without any shame at all and great enthusiasm that Dean whooped and set to loudly beating out the bass-line of Immigrant Song. 

Sam shot up from his chair, his enormous legs kicking wildly and his stupid girly hair flying in his face. He was swearing a blue streak as he clawed his way upright, eyes focusing with vengeful intent on his madly grinning brother. 

“Dean!” he hollered, lunging for the spoon. Dean skipped out of reach and continued his serenade. 

“We come from the land of the ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs flow!” he cried, dancing around the futon. 

By the time Sam caught him and wrenched the pot out of his hand he was laughing too hard to see straight. 

“You’re such and _ass_!” Sam panted, chucking the pot towards his bedroom and the spoon into the kitchen. Dean wrapped his arms around his stomach and laughed and laughed. Sam kicked at him halfheartedly, fighting the grin Dean could see dimpling his cheeks. 

“You should be thanking me!” Dean insisted between giggles, flopping down on the futon. “You’re gonna screw your neck up sleeping in that damn chair.”

“Says the guy who refuses to share the bedroom and sleeps on a cracker-thin futon instead.” Sam growled, flopping back down in the chair and scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“Hey,” Dean snapped, not about to have this argument for the hundredth time. “You’re the one who needs study space and room for all those damn books. I’m just a mechanic/bartender. I don’t need quiet time.” 

Sam rolled his eyes but let it drop. Raking his hair back through his fingers looked around, his eyes finally landing on the clock. 

“Ah crap.” He sighed, “Now I’ll be awake all night.”

Dean laughed and chucked a pillow at him. “You really are a giant toddler.” 

“Says the guy who just got done playing a metal pot as a drum.” Sam retorted, catching the pillow and stuffing it behind his head where it stuck up over the normal-human-sized headrest. It was only a few moments of easy silence before Sam said the words Dean had been waiting for. “How’s Cas?” he asked softly. 

Dean sighed, sinking further into the futon. “I think he’ll be ok. His dad’s sick.”

Sam’s puppy dog eyes came out in full force, his eyebrows scrunching way the hell up his forehead. “And he feels guilty for not being there?” he guessed. 

Dean snorted. It was like the kid had emotional radar, he usually knew what was going on in people’s heads better than they did. “Yeah. And pissed, and homesick, and probably about ten-thousand other things. Kid’s been through the ringer. I’ll tell you Sam, when I realized it was his brother standing there all smarmy and suave, like he was just popping in for his usual weekly visit. And Cas’s face… I just about tore the guy a new one. Think I mighta scared him a little.” He didn’t bother to hide the satisfied grin that surfaced as he remembered the slight widening of Lucifer’s eyes as Dean had threatened to go Super Saiyan.  

It had happened before, that reaction: when Sam was hurt or scared. When John would come back drunk and pissed off and looking for someone to take it out on, when his bloodshot eyes landed on Sam. Once when Jo had her arm broken by some big chick during a game, or that time Ellen had been held up outside the bar for her bank bag. It was some sort of adrenaline thing that kicked in when someone he loved was in trouble. Apparently Cas was part of that select little circle now. 

People Dean Winchester loved. 

Yeah, ok. Weird drunken fantasy-time aside, he could admit Cas was probably in that category. Sammy’s best friend, the one looking out for him when Dean couldn’t and didn’t give a thought for his own safety in doing so. Jo’s confidant and Gabe’s foil. Tough little nerd with huge pop-culture gaps and shockingly badass ninja chops. Soft-spoken and serious but liable to make a joke at the weirdest moments and break out that smile that folded his wooden face like a roadmap. The kid who made Sammy smile. The kid who made Dean laugh. The kid who wrapped the whole goddamn world around one clueless little finger and never stopped trying his hardest at absolutely everything. The kid who had held on with both hands, his eyelashes sticky with tears in the crook of Dean’s neck just a few hours ago. Yeah. Leaving his dick out of the picture entirely he could admit that “loved” was probably the category where Cas fit best. 

Dean blinked to find Sam peering at him through narrowed eyes. 

“What?” he demanded. He’d seen that face about a hundred times before and he knew Sam was about to make some weird leap about what Dean was thinking that would probably be ten percent accurate and ninety percent completely irrelevant bullshit. It was the ninety percent Sam always insisted they _talk out_. 

“Nothing.” Came Sam’s surprising reply. Dean waited for the other shoe to drop for a few seconds before Sam stood, stretched, and tucked his hair behind his ears. “What are we doing for dinner?”

Later that night after pasta and beer, when Sam’s soft snores were buzzing through the apartment, Dean’s mind turned back to Cas and his startling pre-dinner revelation. So Dean loved him. So what? Dean loved Cas. Ok. Not like, _loved_ love him, obviously. That whole jerk-off thing had been a weird fluke, just some crossed wires that came with shit-tons of alcohol and about a dozen recent emotional over-shares. He did not want to bone Cas. Well, not usually, anyway. Not sans vodka. So not _love_ love. Definitely. Just, he loved him the way he loved Sam. Or Jo. Or even Ash. A very platonic kind of love. Familial. He just wanted Cas to not get shit on all the time. He wanted Cas to be happy. To be safe. To not have to worry so much about his dickbag family or the teenage-mutant-ninja-douche putting him in the hospital again. Like Gabe had said that night, Cas deserved better. And one hammered, confusing, utterly breathtaking wank notwithstanding, Dean wouldn’t hesitate to do his damnedest to try and make all that happen for the guy. 

Because he loved him. Just not _love_ love. Yeah. 

That settled, Dean promptly fell asleep and slept a full seven hours - longer than he had in months. 

 

****

 

Castiel couldn’t sleep. He was wrung out, his eyes burning and his chest hollow, but the buzz-buzz-buzz of his mind wouldn’t let up. He and Gabriel had kept to their agreement not to speak anymore about Lucifer or his news but that hadn’t stopped either of them from constantly rerunning it in their heads. It had been a tense, silent evening. Gabriel had left near nine after showering and dressing in his loudest, most obnoxious clothes, telling Cas not to wait up. Castiel recognized his brother’s usual escape route for what it was but made no comment. If Gabriel wanted to not-talk about all this with a pretty girl tonight that was just fine by Cas. 

So he lay in his bed staring at the ceiling and trying not to let the rush of his thoughts drown out all other sound. Order. He needed order. Not this chaos. Perhaps if he went through the day as it had happened, moment by moment he would be able to make sense of these feelings. Alright. Where to start?

Ellen’s kind words over breakfast. Happiness, warmth, friendship. 

Good. Next, the phone call to Lucifer. Anxiety, trepidation, and yes, he supposed Sam had been right to label that little niggling tremor hope. 

Sam’s offer to accompany him to work for moral support. Fondness, gratitude. Sam was a very good friend, much better than Castiel usually managed. Yes, gratitude. 

The ride to the shop in Jo’s car. More trepidation, bordering on outright fear. Nausea. 

Seeing Dean standing there with Lucifer’s hand in his own, a pleasant smile on his face. Surprise. Definitely. 

Lucifer’s figure against the incongruous backdrop of Singer Auto. This was getting more difficult. Humor? Possibly. Nervousness. Welcome, hurt. 

Dean’s reaction to Lucifer once he understood who he was…

Now that was interesting. And unexpected. And…exciting? Dean had radiated contained force, every cell of his body primed for violence. It should have been ugly or even frightening, but thinking of it now Cas felt the same swirl of pleased and flattered he had then. And something else, too. Something he recognized easily enough but hesitated to give a name to. Arousal. 

He sighed and pressed his palm into one eye. It did no good to think of Dean that way, though often he couldn’t help it. Dean was his friend. Dean just wanted to keep Cas safe. And that should have been enough, that Dean cared about him at all should have been enough. But something about the curve of his shoulder as it braced for attack, the heat of his hand pressed into Cas’s hip steering him behind Dean’s bulk made it impossible for Cas to shake the tingle that raced along his skin. 

He shook his head and tried to move on. 

What had come next? Dean listening to his explanation, the tense set of his mouth as he scanned Cas for any signs of discomfort. His acceptance of Cas’s choice to hear his brother out. Pride, that Dean would trust him and not try to coddle him as Gabriel might have. Happiness that Dean felt genuine concern for him. 

The conversation with Lucifer… 

Messy. Guilt, anger, fear, sadness, shock… He shied away from that, skipping instead to Dean’s face as he stood in the doorway after Lucifer had left. Shame. He had wanted to hide his face. Sorrow, he could see it reflected in Dean’s expression. Relief? He had certainly felt that when Dean’s arms closed around him. Lucifer had left him feeling helpless and shaken and lost. But as Dean held him he felt the ragged bits of himself cling to one another, and to Dean. Grounded. That was the right feeling. He had felt tethered. Not restrained but safely moored to something stronger than his own fragile heart as it threatened to sink into oblivion. 

Dean’s fingers had been so quiet on Cas’s back, the gentle rumble of his voice passing straight from the smooth line of his throat through Cas’s cheek. Safe. He had felt safe. And loved. 

Of course he knew Dean didn’t love him in a romantic sense. Dean was straight, and even if he weren’t he would probably chose someone as gregarious and vivacious and captivating as himself. Someone luminous. He deserved as much. But nonetheless Cas had felt loved as Dean held him and let him weep. Pulling his pillow to his face he wrapped his arms around it, hugging it to him with all the strength he wished he’d held Dean. 

It was light out before he managed to sleep. 

 


	20. Unexpected Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bad news: after a death in the family and some major changes at work it looks like I’m not going to have time to do the full-on NaNoWriMo I thought I was this year. The good news: instead, I’ve decided to try and reach 25,000 new words on this never-ending fic during what’s left of November instead! It’s ambitious and probably not going to happen, but if I can get any significant amount of writing done in the next few weeks I will consider it a huge win. Your brilliant feedback is what keeps me going so if you want to help me reach this goal leave comments, kudos, and suggestions galore! As always, thanks for reading along with me!  
> For those of you who don’t know what macarons are please look them up. They’re different from macaroons and they’re beautiful little cookies. I’m pretty sure it isn’t possible to make them looking the way I’ve described but we can just chalk it up to Gabe’s magic touch.

Fingers in his hair, stroking. Soothing. Winding their way through the tiny curls at the nape of his neck and lingering warm against his skin. Just stroking. Then gripping. Tugging on the short strands and forcing a hoarse breath out of him, yanking his head back. 

A hand pressed to his back, flat between his shoulder blades. Shoving him forward, into something warm and solid. The smell of sweat and cheap shampoo, motor oil and metal. All around him. Skin hot, hot against him. His own heartbeat in his ears, fast and deafening. A hand pressed into his hip, salt on his tongue. 

“Cas.” A tiny puff of sound against his forehead, the brush of lips along his hairline. “Cas.” His arms aching, holding so tightly, not tightly enough. 

“ _Cas_.”

Castiel awoke panting, his face smashed into the pillow he was clutching to his chest. His fingers were cramping with the strain of his grip. His hips moved in restless little circles against his twisted comforter and he could feel a cooling sheen of sweat across his back. 

Oh. 

He flushed with embarrassment, forcing his hips to still. He listened for Gabriel’s presence over the sound of his own harsh breathing. The low hum of traffic outside his window said it was still early. The air held that still silence of an empty apartment but he could hear the distant clatter of the kitchens far below. Either his brother was still at his lady-friend’s house or already at work downstairs. Thank goodness. He could imagine Gabriel’s reaction to the sounds he must have been making in his sleep, and it involved a level of teasing Castiel didn’t think he was prepared to deal with. At least not in his current state. 

He rolled onto his back to assess just how far gone his current state actually was. Pretty far gone, he decided, judging by the ache between his legs and the dramatic tent in his pyjama bottoms. He sighed and threw an arm across his eyes, wincing at the sticky slap of skin on skin. 

This had happened before, of course, waking up in a state of half-drugged arousal. He’d never had much difficulty in dealing with it, no compunction in taking himself in hand. But in the last few weeks he had done that less and less, choosing instead to wait it out in a cold shower or uncomfortably tense standoff. He knew why, just as he knew that he probably shouldn’t indulge right now. 

But though his head was telling him in no uncertain terms that this was a bad idea his hand didn’t seem to get the message. It slipped beneath the drawstring of his pants and smoothed warm and rough and wonderful over his length. He gasped, a wave of warmth spreading instantly. As he closed his fingers around himself and began to stroke a tiny moan stuttered in his throat. For a moment he tried to focus just on his own hand, his own skin, but the dream was still too fresh in his mind for him to avoid falling back into. 

Dean. 

He’d been dreaming of Dean again. Dean solid and warm and holding him. Dean’s breath across his skin. _Dean’s_ hands on him. 

His hips canted up into his own palm as he imagined it to be Dean’s, imagined biting down on the soft skin of Dean’s throat instead of his own bottom lip. It was quick and violent and he gritted out Dean’s name into the empty air of his room as ejaculate spattered his stomach. 

For a moment he lay gasping while his sweat and come cooled, floating on a gentle wave of euphoria. Then, as the haze over his eyes began to clear he sighed. 

Alone. 

He was alone. Dean was not here, would never be here, and thinking of him this way was wrong. Shoving up to sit on the edge of his bed he snatched a tissue from his bedside table and roughly scrubbed his stomach clean. 

He’d let it happen again and he felt exactly as terrible as every other time. Worse. He’d never envisioned those sensations so clearly before, and the only way he knew them now was through the comfort Dean had offered him. Dean had hugged him, held him close, but in friendship. He had offered Castiel support when he was upset and Castiel had taken that and made it something dark. What was wrong with him? He valued Dean’s friendship. He really did. He didn’t need anything more from him. It felt wrong to twist Dean’s affection into what he wished it to be like this. 

His shower was quick and businesslike and soon he was dressed in his familiar clothes. Well, they were familiar to him now. One of the silly t-shirts Gabriel had bought for him - a black one that said ‘come to the nerd side, we have pi’ - beneath his usual button-down and a pair of well-fitting jeans. He frowned at himself in the mirror, a pink tinge still staining his cheeks. He wouldn’t do this again. It was a privilege to be near Dean, to have his trust and affection. To be able laugh with him and learn from him. That was enough. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why did he have to constantly wish for more? He really was selfish. Dean had already given him so much, it was unfair of him to wish for more. To Dean and to himself. 

The next time he would just take a cold shower. 

 

****

 

School was horrid that day. Raphael - back from and seemingly unaffected by his recent suspension - was sitting in Cas’s usual seat in homeroom and welcomed him with a vile slur just before Ms. Powell appeared. He grinned like a catfish as Cas took a seat in the front and tried not to think about it. In the confusion of Lucifer’s arrival he had entirely forgotten his essay for English and received a failing mark. Alfie was out sick and Jo was terrified of the algebra test she had final period and snipped at Cas and Sam all through lunch. In gym they were playing street hockey and by the time he caught his forth slap shot in the shin he realized how badly the school needed to invest in new safety equipment if they were going to continue this sport.  

When the final bell rang at last Castiel drooped bonelessly in his seat, exhausted. Jo and Sam would be meeting him at Reynard’s after their respective practices were over and he was glad to have that to look forward to. He gathered his things and headed to his locker. After the incident with the spray paint the custodian had valiantly tried to scrub the metal clean, but his zeal had taken off some of the original paint as well, leaving a shiny imprint of the word “faggot” glimmering across the door. Chuck had promised to see about getting this section repainted, but it would take a bit of shuffling to find money in the budget. 

“Some dirt you can’t scrub off, Novak.” Raphael’s voice hissed near his ear. 

Castiel glanced over his shoulder to find the taller boy standing far too close, his teeth bared in a vicious grin. He sighed, turning back to his locker and twirling in his combination. He made sure to block the lock with his body. The last thing he needed was Raphael breaking into his locker to leave him unpleasant surprises.  

“Nothing to say for yourself, Faggot?” hissed Raphael, leaning on the lockers next to Castiel and crossing his arms across his chest. 

Cas stowed his books, grabbing the ones he would need to make up that essay, and headed for the exit. Raphael shoved off the locker to follow him. He slapped a wide hand against the nape of Cas’s neck, gripping far too tightly. Castiel resisted the urge to shake him off, unsure that he’d be able to stop at that alone. 

“Did you have fun while I was away?” Raphael asked in a mock-pleasant tone. “Fuck your pal Winchester after his big win? Celebrate in style?” 

Cas grit his teeth. “Have you ever wondered why you’re so fascinated with homosexual behavior, Raphael?” he asked, expecting the taller boy to reel back, offended. To his surprise Raphael only chuckled and gripped him harder. 

“You recruiting now, are you?” he snipped, “Drafting for the other team?” 

“It’s not a team, Raphael.” Castiel sighed. “And if it were I certainly wouldn’t want you on it, having seen the way you treat your partners.”

“Tsk tsk.” Raphael chided, flexing his fingers against Castiel’s skin. “You know I still owe you for ratting me out to Chuck.”

“I didn’t ‘rat you out’, Raphael.” Castiel said calmly, knowing it was useless. “Chuck happened to be there.”

“Right. With your loudmouth brother dragging him along. Tell me, is your brother as big a fag as you are? Must be, baking cookies like a fucking housewife all day.”

Cas clenched his fists and tried unsuccessfully to shake Raphael off. 

“Or maybe that’s why he lets you stay with him, hu?” sneered the taller boy, brushing his lips against Cas’s ear. “Free blow job with a dozen cupcakes? Spring for two dozen and they can bend you over the counter?”

“You certainly enjoy the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” Cas observed, proud when he sounded mildly bored instead of annoyed. 

Raphael huffed through his nose, a touch of frustration eking into his tone. “Heard you been hanging out with both Winchesters now. Following Dean around Singer’s little shit-hole like a puppy. Hoping he’ll fuck you one of these days?”

Cas felt himself flush red. His mind flashed guiltily to the morning, the spike of shame overtaking him again. “Shut up, Raphael.” He hissed. Of course that was a mistake. Raphael’s eyes glinted, his nostrils flaring as he scented Castiel’s weak spot. 

“Harboring a little crush, there, pillow-biter?” he jeered gleefully. “Who knows? Dean’s a notorious slut. You might be in with a shot, there. Just talk slow so he doesn’t miss where all the parts go. He’s not the brightest tool in the shed.”

Castiel whirled, flashing his teeth in an involuntary snarl. “You are a pestilence.” He hissed. “A virus who can only prove your own existence by causing misery to others.”

Raphael’s eyes sparked triumphantly and Castiel felt pinned, trapped in his own reaction. “You _do_ want to fuck him, don’t you?” Raphael smirked, a poor imitation of pity. “Oh, Novak. Good luck getting him to pull his dick out of whatever bar-skank he’s banging this week long enough to shove it down your throat.” 

The world went red around the edges but Cas held himself perfectly still. He would not rise to the bait. He wouldn’t. His fists shook as he stood staring holes in Raphael’s forehead, watching the other boy’s grin splay wider. 

“Castiel?” Suddenly Virgil stood beside him, a calming hand placed on Cas’s shoulder breaking the tension. Cas let his anger roll off his shoulders like water, loosening his fists and shaking his head minutely. 

“Hello, Virgil.” He said, watching disappointment flood Raphael’s face. 

“Are you alright?” Virgil asked, fixing Raphael with a dark glare. Since the incident with Cas’s locker the usually stoic Virgil had been quite vocal about his dislike for Finnerman. 

“Hey, Virg. You’re interrupting a private conversation, dickspit.”

“Really?” Virgil drawled past a lip curled in disgust. “Because it looked to me like I was interrupting a petty bully’s attempt to goad his favorite target into throwing the first punch.” Raphael scowled but Virgil didn’t back down. “In case you didn’t know, Finnerman, I am not only president of the LGBTQ Alliance but Vice-chair of the anti-bullying task force at this school. If I were to report this incident to Mr. Shurley I have no doubt he would be moved to act swiftly and decisively against such behavior, especially in light of your recent suspension.” 

Castiel could actually see the vessels in Raphael’s eyes fill with blood. No doubt it was the taller boy who was seeing red now. 

“You think your friends will protect you, _Castiel?_ ” the way he formed Cas’s name made it sound more caustic than any insult he’d used yet. 

“I think if you ask your friends Rigby and Kennedy you’ll find I don’t need help protecting myself.” Castiel snipped. 

Raphael gave a dismissive snort. “That why you landed in the hospital?” Raphael snapped his mouth closed, realizing he had essentially just implicated his lackeys in Castiel’s assault. With an inarticulate growl he spun on his heel and made a break for it. Castiel watched him go, a little curl of satisfaction making an ugly flutter around his stomach. 

Virgil’s eyes widened. “They’ve sent you to the _hospital?”_ he demanded, his grip on Cas’s shoulder tightening painfully. 

“Theribs.” Castiel explained, touching his side. He hadn’t been practicing much in fencing club while his ribs healed up, but spent most of his time giving pointers and showing the others new moves. “I was caught unaware.” Castiel explained calmly. “It won’t happen again. I am more than capable of protecting myself, Virgil.”

“You need to go to the police with this!” Virgil insisted, his expression darkening. 

“It’s not that serious.” Castiel assured him. “I doubt they will be so foolish as to attack me so blatantly again, especially now that they know I am capable of… as Miss Harvelle puts it, ‘handing them their asses on a silver platter.’” 

Virgil barked out a laugh but it quickly dissolved back into a pinched frown. “Castiel, I very strongly urge you not to try and bear this on your own. These cretins have already proven themselves willing to inflict serious damage. I’ve seen what can happen when you downplay this sort of thing for too long. You might not be able to fight them off next time.”

Castiel sighed. He was grateful for Virgil’s intervention and his clear concern, but it wasn’t so bad now. “Thank you, Virgil, but I will be fine. If they resort to ambush again I may be forced to involve the authorities but as it is with Kennedy still suspended and Rigby under Chuck’s eye I would rather wait and hope it blows over.” 

Virgil looked skeptical but nodded, releasing Cas. “I’ll see you at practice this week?” he asked. 

“Of course.” Castiel smiled.

His hope lasted less than twenty minutes. Castiel left school and headed for home, marvelling that he could think of Gabriel’s apartment that way now. Home was a word he’d always associated with quiet and order and distance. Now it was somewhere warm and loud and horrifically decorated. The word felt warmer on his tongue. 

It was a chilly day but not unpleasant, and with his coat the walk to Reynard’s wouldn’t be bad at all. He passed George’s book shop along the way, resisting the urge to glare through the window at the old man as he sat crouched behind his dingy counter. Instead Cas kept his eyes straight ahead and continued on, mentally composing his essay. Distracted though he was, he heard them coming this time. At a blind corner near a blank storefront, a quick flurry of footsteps rushing up behind him. He tossed his bag to the side and dropped into a defensive crouch, lifting an arm to block the first blow. 

Rigby. His pimpled face locked in a snarl as he swung wide, nearly sending himself through the plate glass as he overbalanced. A short, olive-skinned boy Castiel didn’t know dove in from the side where Cas could see Kennedy lurking - he must have met the rest of the gang after school. Cas slammed his wrist down on the boy’s forearm as he attempted to catch the lapel of Cas’s coat and scooped his hand around the back of his head, sending him spinning to the ground. Hands grabbed at the back of Cas’s collar and a punch landed across the back of his skull. Ignoring the echo in his ears he whipped around again, driving the heel of his hand up into his attacker’s nose. A satisfying crunch preceded a wail of pain. The olive-skinned boy was back up. He threw a punch and Cas tried to dodge. It still caught him in the eye but it was a glancing blow, nothing like the ringing roar it should have landed. He took the opportunity to snatch the boy’s wrist and yank him forward, kneeing him viciously in the gut. He crumpled to the ground with a wheezy groan. Cas spun back to face three more boys. Raphael stood between two others, his eyes wide in anger and shock. Cas smirked as he realized this was the first time Raphael had seen him defend himself physically. Clearly it was more than the taller boy had been expecting. 

They stared at him warily, glancing at each other before advancing as one.Cas was good but he wasn’t a fool. He took off running, sparing a glance backward for his abandoned bag. He’d have to sacrifice it. His assailants were in hot pursuit, Raphael’s long legs catching him up fast. Cas darted around a corner into a narrow alley, nearly tripping over an over-full trashcan that stood at the entrance. Darting around it, he threw it over just as Raphael rounded the corner. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Raphael tumbling ass-over-teacup (as Bobby would have put it) with a loud curse before he was off again. The alley was closed off by a chainlink fence and quick as a cat Cas scrambled up, tearing his palms on the ragged top and dropping down to the pavement on the other side. He saw someone helping Raphael up and Kennedy, clutching his bloodied nose and glaring from the mouth of the alley. He doubted any of them would bother climbing the fence to catch up with them with Raphael clearly injured but he didn’t wait to find out. 

He ran all the way to Reynard’s with his arms aching and his head pounding. By the time he spilled through the door he could barely breath and he collapsed in a chair near the door, barely registering the chatter around him. It was fairly empty, he thought, and he was grateful for that. 

“Castiel?” He looked up to find Lucifer standing near the counter, his long black coat flaring around him and his eyes wide in surprise. 

“Oh.” Cas panted, flushing in embarrassment. He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want Lucifer seeing him like this, blood on his knuckles and an increasing sense of vertigo making him sway. “Hello.” He said weakly. 

“What’s happened to you?” Castiel blinked as Lucifer crouched in front of him, his blocky fingers softly brushing Cas’s cheek. He wouldn’t have expected such a display of affection from his brother, even if it didn’t break his perfectly detached expression. 

“Cas?” Gabriel’s shrill call sounded from the kitchen. “Jesus, what happened?” 

“Do I really look so bad?” Cas laughed weakly, blushing at the fear in Gabe’s face. “I don’t even need stitches this time.”

“Well you’ve got a hell of a shiner building there and you’re covered in blood!” Gabe spat, gesturing to Cas’s t-shirt. Looking down, Cas found there was indeed a long spatter of blood across the cartoon slice of pie. 

“Oh.” He frowned. “That’s not mine. I don’t think.” He held up his knuckles, chuckling as Gabriel grinned and Lucifer frowned simultaneously. “Raphael and some of his friends tried to jump me again. I was ready.”

“How many came after you this time?” Gabe sighed. 

“Six.” Castiel murmured, unable to hide the little surge of pride he felt when Gabe’s eyes sparked viciously.

“That’s my little bro.” Gabe snarled. 

“‘Again’?” Lucifer repeated mildly. “‘This time’?”

Gabe scowled. “That dickbag has already sent Cas to the hospital once. Busted up his face and cracked his ribs. How are those, by the way?”

“Still a little sore if I sleep on them wrong but healing well.” Cas assured him. 

Lucifer’s blue eyes clouded, the amused tilt dropping from his mouth. “And you didn’t press charges?”

Gabriel held his hands up as his older brother rounded on him. Lucifer’s coat swirled dramatically and Castiel was struck by how much larger Lucifer was than he or Gabriel. “Hey! I wanted to. But we both know you can’t make Cassie do what he doesn’t want to do. Never could.” 

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked, stopping Lucifer’s slow advance on a quaking Gabriel. 

Lucifer paused, rolling his shoulders to shrug back into his usual detached amusement. “I was invited.” He said. “I wanted to speak with Gabriel a bit before I left and he invited me to see the store before my flight.” Cas noticed the sleek little black suitcase tucked beside the counter. 

Gabriel shrugged, still eyeing the tallest Novak warily. “Figured ten years was a pretty good stretch. If had to talk to _Michael,_ I might as well shoot the shit with Lucy again, too.” 

Lucifer’s eyes rolled minutely. “Luc, if you absolutely must. No one’s called me Lucy in years.”

“Maybe not to your face.” Gabriel grinned. He pulled a brightly colored cookie from a tray marked “Just take them” on the edge of the counter and handed it to Cas. “Best thing for busted knuckles.” He said with a nod. 

“That seems unlikely.” Cas smiled, but took the cookie. It was a macaron, he thought, but not like one he’d ever seen before. “Rainbows?” he asked turning the cookie over in his hands. Seven sharp tracks of color, each the same width made up the cookie and the icing inside. If he hadn’t seen it he’d have said it wasn’t actually possible to make a rainbow macaron. But Gabriel had somehow worked magic, as he always seemed to. 

“Yep. Feeling a bit pride-y recently. Not sure why.” Gabriel said airily. The flash of his eye told Cas all he needed to know. 

“You baked them specially for Lucifer’s arrival, didn’t you? To poke at him for what happened when I left.” Castiel wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or flattered. He jumped when Lucifer actually laughed. 

“Did you?” Lucifer asked

“Yeah.” Gabe admitted easily. “Joke’s sort of on me though. They look great, taste like shit.” 

“Hence the sign.” Lucifer nodded, still chuckling. 

Gabriel was grinning like a lunatic and Cas could see how much he really had missed their brother in the last ten years. 

“Novak!” 

Three heads turned to the door where Donald Finnerman stood practically vibrating. The few patrons at the tables fell silent, turning to gawk at the irate man trying to glare a hole through Gabriel’s breast pocket. Once again he was dressed in a dark suit. Cas couldn’t help but notice how shabby the pinstripe number looked next to Lucifer’s clean, stark ensemble. Finnerman didn’t seem to notice the blond Novak, just stared at Gabriel with rage boiling in his eyes. His slick smile was gone and in its place he wore a sinister frown. 

“Donnie.” Gabriel ground out from between his teeth. He instantly seemed six inches taller, bulking his muscles toward the intruder like an angry badger. “I thought I made it clear you weren’t fucking welcome here?”

“Oh, I won’t be staying.” Sneered Finnerman. “I just wanted to let you know that if your brother raises a finger to hurt my boy, I’ll be pressing assault charges so fast your head will spin.”

“Excuse me?” Gabriel’s eyebrows crawled up to his hairline. 

“My boy is sitting in my office banged all to hell and he said it was your brother who did it.” Castiel could feel the hatred arching off Finnerman’s skin like lightning as he shook a finger in Cas’s direction. 

“I didn’t touch him.” Castiel murmured honestly. “He fell.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.” Spat Finnerman, not even deigning to glance at Cas. “Look at him! A disgrace. He broke that Kennedy boy’s nose!” 

“You mean the one that kicked him in the head and got suspended for scrawling ‘faggot’ across his locker?” Gabe spat right back, not backing down an inch. Cas saw Lucifer’s eyebrow twitch and flushed in embarrassment. This wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for his decision to leave the family behind. 

“From what I can see it’s _this_ one that starts everything.” The finger continued to shake in Cas’s face. Raphael’s never been in trouble and his future is too important to have some little fairy with a chip on his shoulder ruin things.”

“Get the fuck out of my store you homophobic douche canoe!” Gabriel shouted. A little ripple of murmurs burst from the few occupied tables and Cas sunk down in his chair. 

Finnerman growled. “You’ll be lucky if Graham Kennedy doesn’t press assault charges for _today_.” 

“I defend myself, that’s all.” Cas asserted, his fists clenched at his side. Lucifer placed a warning hand on his shoulder and Castiel fought not to shake it off. 

“Assault?” Gabriel cried, flinging his hands up in exasperation. “One scrawny kid assaulted a half dozen kids and walked away with a black eye? Sure. That’s believable.” 

“Do you really want to take me on, Novak?” Finnerman demanded, his eyes narrowing dangerously. 

“Oh, I think we could make a convincing case for Castiel.” Lucifer interrupted smoothly, his hands sliding sinuously into the pockets of his wool coat. Castiel noticed how it fanned the fabric out slightly around him, making him look larger and more imposing than ever. He guessed Lucifer was well-aware of the effect. 

“And just who are you?” Demanded Finnerman, unconsciously leaning away from Lucifer’s mild, blue-eyed smile.

Gabe blinked at his older brother for a second before a wolfish grin spread across his face. “Yeah, Finnerman. You want a fight then you’ve fucking got one. Meet my legal team. Lucifer Novak, Donald Finnerman: a moderately-sized fish in a pissant pond who thinks he shits gold ‘cause he owns a midrange eurotrash car dealership. Donnie, this is Castiel’s _other_ big brother: the devil himself.” 

Lucifer chuckled. “No need to be so dramatic, Gabriel.” He said pleasantly. 

“You’re a lawyer?” Finnerman’s incensed facade cracked slightly as he looked Lucifer up and down, allowing a bubble of anxiety to drift across his expression. 

Lucifer shrugged modestly. “I haven’t set foot in a courtroom in years.” He said with a self-deprecating smirk. “I’ve been a bit too busy heading acquisitions with my firm to really get my hands dirty anymore. It’s a shame really. I used to be quite good.” He mused, going glassy eyed with feigned nostalgia for a moment. He shook himself, casting a warm smile Cas’s way. “But I’m sure I could dust off the old JD if Castiel required it. With his medical records from the last incident and the reports from the school about your son’s recent behavior I’m sure it won’t even take ten minutes to sort this out with a judge.” 

Cas felt a surge of affection for his brother as Finnerman swallowed audibly. 

Finnerman twitched, snapping his weakened bluster back to Gabriel. “Keep your brother away from my son or I’ll be filing a restraining order. Got it, Novak?” 

“Set foot in my store again and you’ll have a bundt pan wedged so far up your ass you’ll be spitting fruit cake.” Gabriel smiled politely. “Got it, Donnie?”

Finnerman huffed, his cheeks puffing ineffectually before he spun around. 

“Donald,” Lucifer drawled, “you’re forgetting your free sample.” He held up a rainbow macaron, twitching it enticingly. 

Finnerman sucked in a breath but thought better of trying to respond. He was quite clearly outmatched. He spun and marched out of the shop, slamming the door behind him. A little cheer erupted from the half-dozen patrons who had watched the whole little drama.

When he was gone Gabriel turned to his older brother, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. “Really, Lucy?” he snickered, nodding to the cookie. 

“Pion.” Lucifer shook his head and grinned, stuffing the cookie in his mouth. For a moment he looked so like Gabriel Castiel had to blink. “Oh.” He said, his face falling as a few crumbs dribbled off his chin. With some effort, he swallowed. “Oh, I see what you mean, Gabriel. These are terrible.”

Gabriel laughed until tears streamed down his face. “Free hot chocolate for everyone who had to witness that hot mess!” he cried, wiping his eyes. Another little cheer went up and Gabriel retreated behind the counter, chucking the rest of the macarons in the trash.

Lucifer watched him go, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’ve missed him.” He mumbled, and Castiel wasn’t sure whether the comment was directed at him or not. After a moment Lucifer turned to Cas, a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I’ve missed you, as well.” He said. 

“I-“ Cas’s words caught in his throat. 

“I’ve brought you this. I know you don’t have one and I think it’s important that you do. Especially if things like this are a common occurrence.” He motioned to Castiel’s eye with one hand while the other dug around in the pocket of his coat. He produced a slim black box and passed it to Cas. 

“A cell phone?” Cas asked, shocked. It wasn’t just any old phone. It was sleek and new and far more advanced than any of his friends’. 

“Like I said, I think it’s important. I’ve already programmed my number in.” Lucifer’s smile turned slightly shy and Castiel thought that it may be genuine. “If you wish to call me, you’re welcome to.” 

“Lucifer.” Castiel wasn’t sure what else to say. “Thank you.”

“I don’t hate you for what you are, Castiel.” Lucifer blurted suddenly. “I was surprised, the night you left. But while Michael might share our father’s opinions on homosexuality I have never been quite so convinced. What little there is in the bible on the subject is open to interpretation and I have never been quite as… traditional as father. I wish I had known, and that I’d done something to help you that night. If not with father, at least making sure you were safe.” 

“I found Gabriel.” Castiel said quietly, wishing he wasn’t still so furious with Lucifer for just sitting there. 

“And I’m very grateful for that. I don’t think I could have forgiven myself if you’d landed in danger. I meant what I said yesterday, Castiel. We still love you, even Michael. Though as Gabriel has pointed out Michael can be a bit of a… ahem, ‘douche canoe’.” Cas couldn’t contain his giggle as Lucifer used air quotes. “I don’t understand this person you’re becoming but I would like to try, if that’s something you want.”

Castiel bit his lip. He had daydreamed about conversations like this with Lucifer, Anna, even Michael. But it seemed impossible that he was actually having it. “I’m not coming home to see father. Not now.” He said, squaring his chin decisively. “I- my life here is good. I won’t leave it behind for him. It still hurts too much.” He admitted. 

Lucifer nodded. “I see.” Was all he said. 

“But… I could call?” Castiel wasn’t sure whether he was offering the olive branch for Lucifer’s sake or his own. Maybe both. “Check how he’s doing from time to time?” 

This time Lucifer’s nod was accompanied by a smile. “I would like that, Castiel. I would like that very much.”

 


	21. Sammy's Friend, Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another step closer to that 25,000-words-by-the-end-of-November goal! I realize I have only a few days left to reach it but this makes 10,412 words down! I expect major editing to take place later but for now I’m proud to have produced anything marginally readable.  
> Thanks to everyone who commented on the last chapter and sent kudos for their support and affection over the last few weeks, especially since I couldn't be with family for Thanksgiving.  
> According to Google, Manhattan High does not have a Lacrosse team but I figure artistic licence and all that jazz. Also, a little tidbit I realized I had left out of the notes for Chapter 17: Wood Smoke and Stained Glass - Kempfer Bishop Ltd., the firm for which Lucifer works, is a combination of the names of the characters the wonderful Mark Pellegrino plays in Grimm and Being Human (U.S.) respectively. I admit I had lost most of my interest in Being Human when he came along and was just too charasmatic to stop watching. I out-and-out squealed when he showed up in Grimm. It was nice to see him play a good guy for once. He is a genuinely wonderful actor.  
> There’s a little bit of angst in this chapter so look out for the feels. Happy Thanksgiving and I hope you enjoy!

Dean fiddled with the knob of the heater as he waited outside Reynard’s, his breath fogging in front of his face. The familiar rattle of that stray lego he had jammed in there as a kid had gone silent, which was usually a sign Dean needed to get in there and mess around a bit. That rattle had proved to be quite a diagnostic tool over the years, and he had remembered to keep the old lego in there after her rebuild last year. Sighing, he leaned back in the seat and contented himself with tugging his jacket tighter around himself. He could see Gabriel buzzing around inside the shop, his hair flopping around wildly as he darted from counter to table and back. It was nearly as long as Sammy’s now. Just about as stupid, too, as far as Dean could see.

Cas was taking his sweet time, apparently, leaving Dean to freeze his nards off in the street. He’d been surprised when Cas had asked him for a ride to Sam’s game, figuring Cas would’ve been staying in town to see Jo play instead. When he’d said as much Cas had just tilted his head at him and said “I value Jo’s friendship very highly, but I believe this game holds far more importance to Sam than Jo’s does to her. I would like to support him.”

Of course Dean had agreed to let Cas tag along. How could he say no to something like that? Besides, he was pretty sure he could use the company on the long drive. The Chesty Lions had made it to the quarter finals - mostly due to Sam’s epically awesome high scoring - and Manhattan High was a pretty good team. Sam had been up at four-thirty to catch a ride with Brady to the bus over with the rest of the team. Dean had listened half-asleep from his futon as the big moose tip-toed around the apartment trying to collect all his stuff without waking him. How Sam thought anyone was supposed to sleep through his big feet slapping away on the kitchen floor was a mystery.He leaned on the horn again and saw Gabe’s pinched face glaring at him through the window. He grinned and honked a short little tune until Gabe flicked him a finger. He was in the middle of firing a complicated series of dirty gestures back at the little gnome when the door to the apartment flew open and Cas tumbled out onto the sidewalk. 

The guy was a mess. His ugly tan coat trailed from one arm while the other was desperately fumbling with the buttons on his dark shirt. A bright red scarf and dark blue bauble hat were clutched in the sleeve of his coat and Dean hoped the kid had some gloves stashed somewhere. It was gonna be a damn cold day. The wind really ripped through Kansas this time of year and he doubted that shitty trench coat would keep the kid from hypothermia. Cas’s hair was sticking up all over the place and he only had one shoe on. The other, Dean saw as Cas darted across the street and yanked the passenger’s side door open, was stuffed in his coat pocket. He tumbled into the seat and slammed the door, panting plumes of steam into the impala’s close space. 

“Hello, Dean.” He huffed, struggling into the rest of his coat. “I apologize. I overslept.”

Dean decided not to comment on the fact that Cas had some pretty adorable pillow creases mashed into the side of his face. “Big night?” he asked instead, pulling away from the curb. 

Castiel groaned, rubbing his crusty eyes and fiddling with his other shoe. “Gabriel said it was a ‘travesty’” Dean snickered as Cas, still bent over struggling with his shoe, bunny-eared with his fingers above his head, “that I had never seen the film _Animal House._ He insisted I stay up to watch it with him.”

Dean chuckled. “Did you like it?” he asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer. 

Cas sighed. “Not particularly. The chubby man was quite funny in the cafeteria scene, but other than that I didn’t really understand it.” 

“The classics are just lost on some people.” Dean nodded knowingly. He couldn’t quite imagine Cas watching Animal House. The dead horse in the office, the insatiable Otter, the douchebag rival frat… Cas probably had that cute little head-tilt going the whole time. 

Dean frowned, realizing that was the second time in under ten minutes he’d thought of Cas as cute. _Keep it together, Winchester._

“Unfortunately Gabriel decided that I had to then watch several other films I’d never heard of.” Cas continued, oblivious to Dean’s sour face. 

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“There was one about a very unlucky family taking a trip to a defunct theme park,” Cas said, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to remember. “And another about three movie stars who were mistaken by a Mexican village as the heroes they played on screen. That one I quite liked, actually.” 

“MY LITTLE BUTTERCUP!” Dean belted automatically, grinning as Cas husked a laugh. 

“I was up far later than I’d intended by the end of it all. I guess I didn’t hear the alarm I’d set for this morning.” Cas had given up on his shirt buttons and Dean caught a glimpse of a weird stick-figure-looking thing on his t-shirt. 

“What’s this one?” he asked, tapping his knuckle against Cas’s chest. Cas looked down and Dean deliberately ignored the flush that rose in Cas’s face as he pulled his hand away. 

“It’s the chemical formula for serotonin.” Cas explained, pushing his wild hair back from his face. “Gabriel thought it might help me be a bit more upbeat.” The end of his sentence was slightly muffled as he swathed himself in the scarf. He jammed the hat on over his crazy hair, folding his ears over for a moment before they sprang back into position. 

Dean snorted. “You are upbeat, Cas.” He assured the kid. “Gabe just thinks everyone should match his demented chipmunk energy all the time.” 

“Your heater’s not on.” Castiel complained, digging a pair of black gloves out of the pocket of his jeans. 

Dean sighed, tapping the dash with his finger. “Baby’s a bit temperamental still after… well. Anyway. I’ll open her up on Monday and see what’s going on.”

“Perhaps you should also check the ignition coil.” Cas suggested with an abundance of casualness. “I noticed she faltered several times last week, and while ’67 Impalas are notoriously hard starters it couldn’t hurt to double check while you’re in there.”

Dean whistled. “I love it when you talk cars to me, Cas.” He chuckled, wondering just how much studying Cas did in those old dusty _Popular Mechanics_ around Bobby’s office. Probably a lot, judging by the proud flush on the kid’s face. 

After a few miles Cas leaned back against the seat and let his eyes drift shut. Dean smiled, remembering the hundreds of mornings he’d dragged Sammy out of bed just in time to shove him into the car for school. Sam had almost always fallen right back asleep, only to be jerked awake every three minutes as Dean found some excuse to slam the breaks a little too hard or switch on the radio for the traffic news. 

They drove in peaceful, chilly silence for nearly an hour, right out of the city and through the flat Kansas countryside. Cas started snoring somewhere around Grantville and Dean resisted the urge to blast Metallica at him. The kid had been having it rough and as funny as it was to watch someone snap out of sleep to the stomp of Ulrich’s bass drum - that was usually how he kept up on which swears Sammy knew - he just didn’t have the heart. 

Cas still hadn’t said much about his Lucifer’s unexpected visit a couple weeks ago but he’d pretty clearly been shaken up. Dean frowned through the windshield. That afternoon had been rough on both of them. Dean normally wasn’t a hugger - no matter what Sam said - but he hadn’t even paused for thought before dragging Cas in for a hug. Alone, scared, desperate, angry… it had just been written in every atom of Cas’s body; he had needed a goddamn hug. So Dean had hugged him. He’d let him cry and just held on as tightly as he could until Cas finally leaned away, leaving a damp patch on Dean’s jumpsuit and an itch in his skin. 

And every minute since it was like Dean could still feel the solidity of Cas’s body in his hands. At the garage, at the bar, lying in bed, even in the goddamn shower. Which was pretty inconvenient. Every time he got a little happy time going those blue eyes popped in and made him feel like a dirty old man. He hadn’t had a decent jerk-off in weeks. 

No wonder he felt so disjointed. Even his own thoughts sounded rambling and weird in his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten this jumpy about a woman. Not that Cas was a woman, obviously. But honestly the fact that Cas had a dick was really the least of Dean’s worries about this whole thing (and wasn’t that a little bit of a miracle?). As he’d been reminding himself every day for two weeks Cas was a minor, Sam’s friend, and going through some serious shit. He did not need Dean Winchester - his supposed friend - perving on him. 

Luckily for Dean’s sanity, he knew himself pretty well. He was just going through a thing, feeling a little itch and frustrated as hell that he couldn’t scratch it. He’d get over it pretty quickly. He always did. Though usually “getting over it” meant screwing around with whoever so thoroughly had his attention until they got bored of his bullshit and bailed. That wasn’t really an option here. 

It was fine. All this emotional crap he and Sam and Cas had been going through the last couple months was just messing with his head. He’d told himself that about a thousand times over the last few weeks. And the more he said it the more he believed it. It would pass. Just gotta wait it out. 

Easier said than done, though. For two weeks Dean had been trying not to remember the warmth of Cas’s breath across his neck, the flutter of those frigging eyelashes against Dean’s jaw. He’d been doing a damn good job of it, too, not thinking about Cas that way. Every time one of those traitorous little thought bubbles had floated to the surface he’d ruthlessly lanced it with the mantra “Sammy’s friend, seventeen. Sammy’s friend, seventeen.” But this, this wasn’t fair. Seeing him like this, all sleep-muddled and scruffy… well it was like staring at a puppy in a pet-shop window. Dean just wanted to _touch._ He beat that urge down with the old Winchester self-denial and kept his eyes firmly on the road all the way to Manhattan. 

Well, most of the way.  

It wasn’t until they rolled into the parking lot of Manhattan High West that Dean reached over to slap Cas’s shoulder, not allowing himself a more gentle touch. “Rise and shine, tiger.” He laughed as Cas jerked awake with an indistinct stutter. “Time to go stick it to the home team!”

Cas rubbed frantically at his eyes with the heel of his hand and Dean had to squash down a little voice in his head that started cooing like a momma pigeon. The kid was frigging adorable, goddamnit. He glared at Dean, his hat listing drunkenly to one side. 

 _Sammy’s friend, seventeen._ Dean reminded himself sternly. He swung out of the car and sucked in a lungful of fresh air, shaking himself head to toe. He wasn’t gonna shove this fucked-up whatever-non-crush thing on Cas. He was gonna grin, bear it, and wait it out, goddamnit. 

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas asked, suddenly right beside him. When he’d gotten out of the car Dean wasn’t sure and he tensed in an effort not to lean into Cas’s space. He was extra stubbly this morning, Dean couldn’t help but notice. 

“Fine, Cas.” He squeaked, “Just, uh, skipped my coffee this morning.” He lied. “Come on, let’s get in there before all the good seats are gone.”

He led Cas to the stadium behind the school where the massive concrete stands were already stuffed with parents, students, and even a few camera crews. It looked like the fricken rose-bowl or something, with a few thousand people milling about in the cold. The Manhattan High band filled up a little stand at the end of the field, blasting their version of “Kashmir”, which Dean had to admit sounded pretty badass on thirty trumpets and a tuba or whatever the hell they were playing. He spotted an actual triangle player and snickered into his sleeve as he led Cas up towards a little patch of empty bleacher. 

Cas waited until Dean had picked a spot before settling down next to him, gasping as his butt touched the icy metal. 

“Yeah. Forgot the cushions, sorry.” Dean chuckled, feeling his own butt clench in protest. He wouldn’t be surprised if he froze right to the seat, actually. True to his prediction, it was colder than a witch’s left nipple out here and he patted the pockets of his coat for a moment. “Damn. I forgot my hat.” He muttered. 

“I brought you one of Gabriel’s.” Cas said, producing a dark green bomber hat with silver fur lining from his coat. Dean blinked at him, a slow smile spreading as Cas glanced away. “You frequently forget your hat and gloves when we leave work and I thought it would be very unpleasant for you to sit out here all day without one.”

“Shucks, Cas.” Dean said, unable to resist teasing. “You _do_ care.” 

Cas blinked furiously, his face beet red as he shoved the hat at Dean’s chest. “Put the hat on, Dean.” He grated. 

Dean laughed and obeyed humming as the fur lining instantly returned feeling to his frozen ears. “Oo.” He sighed, letting the flaps dangle over his cheeks. “Thanks, Cas.” 

The teams were already out on the field, each at their separate ends of the field. It was easy to pick out Sam even through all the equipment and extra layers. Sometimes Dean still caught himself thinking of Sam as the runty little jerk who crawled into bed with him and stole all the covers. It was easy to forget he was nearly an adult, towering a full head above the rest of the team and looking about twice as wide as any of them with those shoulder pads on. He was leading drills for the offence while Brady worked on the defence, whipping his cross with blinding speed and sending the ball screaming into the net. His feet were quicker than anyone else’s, and Dean watched closely as he executed four perfect split-roll dodges in a row. 

“Sam looks very alert this morning.” Cas commented, obviously having no trouble finding Gargantua out among the pygmys either. 

“He’s pumped.” Dean nodded, grinning. “If they get past Manhattan they’re definitely gonna crush Dodge City. That means they make it to the State Championship.” If there was more than a touch of pride in his voice he’d like to see anyone try to correct him. 

“He’s worked very hard.” Cas nodded, sharing a soft smile. Dean smiled back. 

His stomach growled, reminding him that one of Sam’s rabbit-food granola bars and an instant coffee did not a complete breakfast make. “Look, I’m gonna go get a hot dog and a coffee. You want anything?”

“It’s 10:30 in the morning.” Cas reminded him, not breaking his smile. 

Dean shrugged cheekily. “If sausage is a breakfast food I don’t see why hot dogs can’t be.” 

“I would like a hot tea, if they have it.”

“Milk and sugar, right?” Dean asked, knowing it was. 

“And a cinnamon bun, if they have them.” Cas added and Dean set off to find the refreshment booth, chuckling to himself. For all Cas complained about Gabriel’s epic sweet-tooth Dean was pretty sure it was a family trait. Certain things didn’t catch Cas’s eye, like cakes and muffins, but put a cinnamon bun anywhere within a three-block radius of him and it was toast. 

The crowd was getting thicker by the minute and Dean shouldered his way through towards the little wooden booster shack, following the scent of caramelizing onions. Chesty Lions t-shirts and Indians caps were everywhere. Maybe they were selling those giant foam fingers or something. He needed some team spirit, ASAP. 

There wasn’t much of a line yet so Dean got to the counter relatively quickly, sparing a grin for the cute brunette working the coffee machine. 

“What can I get you, sir?” she asked, blushing prettily against the cream scarf she wore. 

“Black coffee and a loaded dog, tea with milk and sugar, and what do you have for baked goods, sweetheart?” She scowled slightly at the pet-name and Dean instantly dropped into a easier posture. “Sorry.” He smiled, making sure it was more sheepish recognition than slick charm. “That sort of slips out sometimes, hanging out with old mechanics all day. No disrespect meant, miss.” He’d gotten this reaction enough times to recognize that a lot of girls didn’t like the over-familiar approach. He wasn’t about to start shit at Sammy’s big game. 

She brightened again and nodded, pointing towards a rack of cookies and things at the back wall. “That’s what we’ve got. Take a look.”

They weren’t up to Gabriel’s standards, probably, but they looked damn good to Dean. He grinned, spotting a row of glistening cinnamon buns each about the size of his face. Cas would wet himself. “One of those, please.” He pointed. “Any chance you could heat it up?”

“Sure.” She shrugged, popping one of the monstrous cakes in a paper box and shoving it in the microwave. Dean paid and gathered up the food, flashing a grateful smile as the brunette offered a little cardboard tray and a plastic spork. He was about halfway back to the stands when he heard an all-too-familiar voice.

“Winchester!” Dean sighed, his lips pursing in annoyance as he kept walking. Seemed the dick-weasle was in a particularly pestilent mood, and Dean could hear him keeping pace through the crowd behind him. He was almost at the corner of the bleachers when the kid rounded in front of him, a sly smile on his douchey face. Rigby was right behind him, oozing and crusty as usual. His beady little eyes snapped viciously as he lingered behind his chosen idol. 

“Hey, Winchester. Come to cheer your little sister on?” Raphael sneered, motioning over his shoulder to where Sam was calling out drills. “Sammy’s got his head on straight this year, looks like.” Dean ground his teeth. No one was allowed to call him Sammy but Dean. And maybe Gabe, if he was trying to get under Sam’s skin. 

“Surprised you ventured so far out of your shell, Teenage Mutant Ninja Twat.” He said cooly, attempting to side-step Raphael. “You know I bet there are some people here who haven’t heard how rich your dad is. Why don’t you go look for them? Wouldn’t want anyone out of the loop.” 

“See you brought your twink with you.” Raphael smirked, twitching his head towards the stands where Cas sat watching Sam. As Dean looked up, Cas turned, his eyes widening as he caught sight of just who was holding Dean up. Even from here Dean could see his face go stony, his gloved hands clench on his thighs. 

“Fucking fag.” Rigby hissed. 

Raphael cast him a dark look and the kid shut up instantly. “Tell me, Winchester, are you pitching or receiving in that little arrangement?”

“Fuck off, Raphael.” Dean growled, shoving past a middle-aged woman in an obnoxiously bright Indians sweatshirt. He could feel Cas’s eyes on him the whole time as he made his way up the steps. 

He could practically feel the malicious glee leaking out of Finnerman’s pores. “It’s pathetic, the way he follows you around, practically drooling for cock all day.” Dean pushed on and imagined Raphael’s teeth falling out one by one. “I always knew you’d fuck just about anything with a cunt,” the asshole continued, “but it looks like you’ve broadened your horizons to anything with a pulse now, hu?” 

Dean just set his jaw and kept walking. That, and imagined punching the kid straight in the dick. 

“I guess he must give pretty good head to convert Dean Winchester to the sparkly side.” Raphael mused. “Or is it you getting fucked this time? Letting that little pissant faggot shove his dick up your ass?”

Dean froze, the cardboard tray crumpling in his hands. He was done. He was so fucking done with this shit. “So what if I am?” he snapped, turning to face the pair of cheese-dicks straight on. Rigby scrunched his face into a deeper scowl, a few of his forehead zits weeping under the pressure. Raphael stared, his mouth flapping open. Dean let an easy grin unfold across his face. “What do you care?” He challenged. 

Raphael narrowed his eyes. “You’re a queer now?” he demanded, sounding somehow disappointed. 

Dean laughed. “Does it matter? Gay, straight, bi, triceratops, I’m still a hundred times less of a douche than you and I call that a win any day.” Raphael glared and Dean wasted no time stepping right up into the younger boy’s space. “And any time you need reminding of the fact that I can beat you into an actual quivering puddle of piss and tears without breaking a sweat you go ahead and call Cas a faggot again. Got it?” 

He watched Raphael’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, taking that for a yes. “Good. Now piss off. We’ve got a game to win.” 

He turned and marched up the steps, meeting Cas’s worried eyes with a smile. As he edged along the row towards his seat he realized he felt good. Really good. Telling Finnerman off was always a nice feeling, but something about this was different. More. 

“Are you alright?” Cas asked worriedly, taking the tray from Dean’s hands while Dean settled himself back in his seat. 

“I’m fine, Cas.” Dean assured him, plucking out his coffee and hot dog. “Finnerman was just reminding me why I found cracking my knuckles on his face so satisfying.” 

Castiel sighed, pulling off one glove to wrap his hand around his paper cup. The steam curling out of the little hole in the lid was whipped away in the wind as he brought it to rest against his chin. “What is he even doing here?” he muttered, casting his eyes out across the field. 

“Spreading the misery around a bit, apparently.” Dean shrugged, taking a swig of coffee. It was shitty, even by his standards, but man did the warmth feel good. “I got you a cinnamon bun.” He said, pointing. “Should still be warm.”

Cas smiled, digging out the spork. “Thank you, Dean.” He said softly. Dean watched him for a minute as he tried to decide which bit to dig into, something warm spreading out across Dean’s stomach. 

The whistle blew for the coin toss and for a while Dean forgot all about Finnerman and Rigby. “Here we go, Cas!” he said, rubbing his gloved hands together briskly. 

Brady and the other team’s captain met in the middle of the field, shaking hands and nodding respectfully. Manhattan won the toss and took the south end of the field and it all kicked off. Right off the bat Manhattan scored twice, plowing through Brady’s defence like they weren’t even there. Sam managed to get a couple good runs going up the field towards his goal but kept getting tackled by a quick little dude with a black cross. Dean had to admit the kid was impressive, stopping Sammy in his tracks like that. Every time Sam managed to break away Cas stood up, catching his bottom lip in his teeth and holding his breath like a kid watching a scary movie. Dean just hollered like a lunatic. By the end of the first quarter Lawrence was down four to one - only Brady having managed to score and that was a lucky shot at best. The second quarter went a little better, Sam managing a goal and three assists. Manhattan scored two more but overall their momentum was definitely slowing. As they broke for halftime Dean leaned back in his seat, wondering how he’d managed to jump up and down without spilling ketchup all over himself. Small miracles, he supposed. 

He glanced down to find Raphael and Rigby still glaring up at them from the lower bleachers, Raphael looking like someone had pissed in his cornflakes. Must have thought he’d really get to Dean by accusing him of getting with Cas. Truth was Dean _did_ want to get with Cas. And as much as he knew what a terrible idea that would be for Cas, he wasn’t ashamed. No one could tell him Cas wasn’t a goddamn catch, least of all Raphael Fucking Finnerman. 

Dean grinned, an idea popping into his head. In retrospect he would realize it was a terrible idea. Cruel, even. But in the moment it sounded funny as hell.

“Good game, hu Cas?” He asked, casually draping his arm around the kid’s shoulders. Cas jumped, his eyes flicking up to Dean’s in surprise. Dean caught his gaze and held it as he took the cup from Cas’s fingers and placed it back in the paper tray. “Cold as balls out here though.” He leaned in, letting the frozen tip of his nose drag across Cas’s cheekbone. 

“D-Dean?” Cas stuttered. His breath steamed in front of Dean’s eyes. 

“Just go with it, Cas.” Dean murmured, enjoying the way his forehead fit against Cas’s temple. He sort of forgot for a moment that he was putting on a show and just rested there, his hand kneading the muscles of Cas’s shoulder. It felt pretty nice. Cas made no move to get away but Dean could practically hear his brain ticking along beneath the bauble hat. Out of the corner of his eye he checked that they still had an audience. Raphael was scowling and Rigby was practically smoking with rage and Dean curled a smile against the bottom of Cas’s ear. 

“You’d think we just kicked his puppy.” He murmured, letting his lips drag along Cas’s skin towards his mouth. That frigging mouth.

“Who?” Cas breathed and Dean realized he was shaking. 

“Who do you think?” Dean breathed. It wasn’t a conscious decision to close the distance between Cas’s face and his. He hadn’t even meant to be touching him this much. But the next thing he knew he was pressing a chaste little kiss to those soft, chapped lips. 

Holy hell. 

Cas jerked back, nearly knocking Dean into the lap of the guy next to him as he shoved him away. “I, wha-“ 

Oh, _SHIT._

Dean’s brain - which had apparently been on a beach in Figi drinking mai thais for the last three minutes - kicked back online. Oh shitting fuck. What had he just done? Cas was staring at him with wide, watery blue eyes threatening to spill over. His lips were parted and his hand firmly planted in the center of Dean’s chest, holding him away. 

“I-“ he managed to croak, shocked at himself just as much as Cas was. “Cas…” 

“Why would you…?” Cas didn’t seem to be able to finish the sentence. 

“Raphael… it was just a joke. To piss him off.” Dean stumbled to explain, feeling every inch a creepy, pervy, non-consensual asshat. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry.” 

 _Great, Winchester,_ thought Dean. _Just fucking great. Remember that whole “Sammy’s friend, seventeen, emotionally vulnerable, don’t be a perv" talk you gave yourself about twelve times this morning? Way to blow that all to hell just to dick around with Finnerman for a few seconds. God-fucking-damnit._

Cas blinked valiantly against the tears that so clearly wanted to fall and pulled his hand away. His jaw set in that way Dean recognized. For a second Dean thought he might actually choke on the shame that look sent coursing through his blood. It was the same way Cas looked at Raphael. Disgust.

“Please don’t touch me like that again, Dean.” He said, his voice all quiet and firm. Dean nodded frantically, his tongue too heavy to make out another apology. 

They sat there in stony, awkward silence until halftime was over, Dean too lost in cringing remorse to even notice Raphael’s satisfied smile. 

Sam’s team won fourteen to eight but Dean didn’t see a goddamn thing the rest of the game. He waited until Cas stood to get up, letting him go first down towards the parking lot with the rest of the crowd. They waited at the end of the field to talk to Sam, not looking at each other until he trotted up. 

“Hey guys! Pretty good game, wasn’t it?” Sam beamed, shaking out a major case of helmet hair. 

Dean twitched at the reminder of his stupid plan but screwed on a smile. “Yeah. Great.” He tried to infuse some enthusiasm into his tone but he could tell by Sam’s face it came up a few miles short. 

“You played very well, Sam.” Cas said. Dean wasn’t sure how he could sound so calm and casual standing next to someone who had basically just assaulted him to prove a point to some douchebag. God, what was _wrong_ with him?

“Yeah. Way to go.” Dean mumbled. 

Sam was looking back and forth between them, his eyebrows crawling up his face. “You two ok?” he asked, clearly noticing Cas’s extra-stiff posture and Dean’s guilty fidgeting. 

“I’m perfectly fine, Sam.” Cas deadpanned. Dean winced. 

“Ok. Did, uh,” Sam glanced at Dean, “did something happen?” 

“Uh Sammy, you’d better get back to the bus. Don’t want to keep everyone waiting. I’ll see you at home, ok?” Dean cast him a significant look, hoping Sam got the memo. _Don’t push it, I’ll explain later._ Sam frowned but nodded and Dean repressed a relieved sigh. Sam patted Cas on the shoulder, eyeing Dean warily as he said his goodbyes and trotted back off across the field.  

“So, uh, car?” Dean stuttered eloquently. Cas turned without a reply and headed for the parking lot, his back stiff and his chin high. 

It was long, silent drive back to Lawrence, broken only by the slam of Cas’s door when they reached Reynard’s.

 


	22. Talking it Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of angst coming up, sorry guys.  
> Since I've got another 11,000 words to my November goal and tomorrow is the 30th I doubt I will make it but thank you guys for all your support anyway! I'm going to keep posting as often as I can before my Christmas vacation and hopefully I can get a good chunk added before then.  
> Please let me know how you feel about this chapter as to me it feels a little shaky. Enjoy!

Gabriel was arranging his thanksgiving display when Castiel pushed through the door of Reynard’s. Cas saw his shoulders sticking out of the counter case as he fiddled with delicate turkey-feather cakes. At the sound of the bell he emerged, his hair pushed back under a baseball cap telling Cas he’s only just come out of the kitchen. 

“Hey, kiddo.” He chirped. “So are we to the East Kansas game of did they screw it all up?” 

“Sam’s team won.” Cas said woodenly. “He played very well.”

Gabriel paused, his sharp whisky gaze pinned to Cas’s face. Castiel found he didn’t even have the energy to squirm. He just stared back, feeling his heart get heavier and heavier in his chest. 

“What’s happened?” he demanded, all the cheer gone from his voice. Castiel wondered what his face must look like to make his brother’s look so stony. 

“I’m not feeling very well.” Castiel told him. It wasn’t a lie. He felt hollowed out, just a fragile skin stretched over his bones. “I’m going to go lie down.”

“Cassie,” Gabriel was already halfway around the counter when Cas held his hand out, baking up a step. 

“Please.” He breathed, unable to bear the distress in his brother’s face. Gabriel had warned him, months ago, that this would happen. Castiel had scoffed, confidently assuring his brother that he was in no danger of having his heart broken. Of course Gabriel had been right. “Please, don’t.” 

Gabriel stopped in his tracks, his hands flexing impotently by his sides. “Okay.” He said slowly. “Just, holler if you need anything, ok?” 

Castiel sighed, grateful Gabriel wasn’t going to push him for an answer. He nodded and retreated from the store, aware of Gabriel’s eyes on him as he did. 

Castiel’s hands were oddly stiff as he unlocked the door to the apartment, drifting inside like a ghost. He stood for a moment in his scarf and gloves, staring at the far wall wondering what on earth he was supposed to do now. 

Kissed him. 

Dean had kissed him. The drag of his nose across his skin had been a cold little spike of pleasure. Castiel still wasn’t entirely sure what the riot in his chest that had erupted at Dean’s touch had been. Elation, terror, confusion… probably all of those. For a few moments the whole world had tilted to the left, tumbling him off the edge into the ether. Dean’s scent filling his head, Dean’s arm heavy on his shoulders. The way Dean’s powerful fingers had sunk into the flesh of his arm. 

He shivered, aware of every inch of his cold, listless body. 

_It was just a joke._

The buzz of his new phone in his coat pocket was still a foreign feeling. It jolted him out of head and back into his skin. He peeled off his gloves and hat and unwrapped his scarf from around his neck. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the sleek device, recalling that he had to touch the screen. 

He slid his finger across it numbly, the now-familiar picture of him and Gabriel in their halloween costumes lighting up behind his text notification.

 

**Sam: What’s going on? Are you alright? - 1:43pm**

 

Castiel sighed, a tiny wedge of guilt forcing its way through his confused thoughts. Sam had managed a very impressive victory today, one that would lead him to the state championship game and a step closer to the redemption he so devotedly sought. He shouldn’t have to worry about Castiel’s hurt feelings on such a day. He typed out a response, hoping he could assuage some of his friend’s worry. 

 

**Castiel: Nothing’s wrong. Well done today. - 1:45pm**

 

Only a few seconds later his phone pinged again. 

 

**Sam: You’re even a bad liar through text. - 1:45pm**

**Sam: Tell me what’s going on. You were upset. What happened? - 1:46pm**

 

Cas wandered to his bedroom, staring at the text. What was he supposed to say? He curled up on top of his covers, his fingers tracing the border of his bottom lip gently. He could still feel the dry press of Dean’s lips there, feel the soft slide of his breath over his chin. 

 

**Castiel: You were right. - 1:54pm**

 

He hit send without thinking. 

 

**Sam: About what? - 1:56pm**

 

**Castiel: Hope is a frightful thing. - 1:59pm**

 

He ignored the repeated ping of his phone, dropping it in the drawer of his nightstand and shutting it firmly.He hugged his knees to his chest, closing his eyes and falling back into the startling wonder of the brief moment when he’d dared to believe Dean wanted him. 

 

****

 

Dean was burning a pot of mac and cheese when he heard Brady’s car door slam outside. The furious stomp of those big Sasquatch feet on the stairs told him Sam was pissed, probably rehearsing his “Dean, how can you be such an ass” speech for the hundredth time since they’d locked eyes at the field. The door flew open, slamming into the wall at the same time Sam’s gear thunked on the dingy carpet. Dean winced. He could feel the bitchface on the back of his neck before he even turned around, listening to the whistle of breath through Sam’s undoubtedly flared nostrils. 

“Want some lunch, Sammy?” 

“What the hell did you do, Dean?” Sam demanded. Not pulling any punches then. He must have figured out that this wasn’t just a little tif between he and Cas, that Dean had done something truly idiotic. Probably could smell it on him or some shit. 

“Easy, Sammy.” He sighed, turning to face the music. The music being Sam’s judgy-est scowl. “I don’t need a lecture right now, ok?” 

“Well what do you need, Dean?” Sam snapped, his shoulders bunching beneath his jersey. 

“I need you to take a shower.” Dean joked weakly. “You reek.”

Sam’s bitchface intensified by ten percent. “Dean.” He growled. 

“What, Sammy?” Dean sighed, switching off the burner and leaning back against the counter. He rubbed his fingers against his eyebrow, unable to meet his little brother’s eyes. “I fucked up. Bad. I get it, ok?” Sam’s expression softened around the edges, but the set of his jaw said he wasn’t about to let Dean off that easily. “Just… please, Sammy?” he said quietly, forcing himself to look his brother in the face. 

Sam’s whole body softened, his nostrils shrinking back closer to their usual size. “Dean.” He sighed. “Cas is really upset.”

Like Dean didn’t know that already. He squashed the urge to roll his eyes and scratched at the back of his head. “I know, man. And he should be. I’m gonna give him a little while to calm down and then I’ll…” he’d what? Talk to him? Pretend it never happened? The second option sounded way more appealing but he was pretty sure Sam would frown on that one. 

Sam sighed. “You’d better fix it.” He warned. 

“I will, Sam. I will.” Dean wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not. 

Cas wasn’t scheduled at the garage the next day and Dean was profoundly grateful for that. He wasn’t really ready to face the kid, or worse the guilt of making Cas call in sick just because Dean was a gropey ass.He was determined not to think about Cas, to just put it out of his mind for a while. But since every inch of the garage showed signs the kid’s careful attention to organization and cleanliness it was a lot harder than he’d thought to make that happen. Still, Dean blazed through his work, pausing only at Bobby’s insistence that he eat lunch. 

“Sit down before you fall down.” He insisted gruffly, chucking a half a peanut butter sandwich at Dean’s head. 

Dean caught it and begrudgingly dropping into one of Bobby’s office chairs. 

“What’s eating you, boy?” Bobby asked, cracking a root beer open on the side of his scarred desk. The office was practically unrecognizable from a few months ago, every scrap of paper properly filed, every surface clear of dust. There were still random piles of magazines and manuals all over the place but they at least had been moved out of the way and stabilized to the point where it didn’t seem like anyone was likely to be crushed when they toppled over. 

“Nothing.” Dean grunted around a wad of peanut butter and bread. 

“Bullshit. You’re jumpy as a virgin at a prison rodeo. What’s got you all twitchy?”

Dean sighed, wishing people would stop trying to make him frigging _talk_ about everything. “I’m not allowed to have a bad day?” he challenged. 

Bobby snorted and fixed him with a steely eye. “Don’t pull that shit with me. This isn’t your usual panty-twist. Something big’s going on and I’m not gonna let you sit there and stew and frighten all my customers with that face. What is wrong?”

Dean leaned his head on his hand and sighed. “I made a mistake and I think Cas is pissed about it. Well, I know he is.”

“So get your head out of your ass and apologize.” Bobby shrugged.“Jesus, sometimes you are your daddy’s son up one side and down the other.”

Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah. I will. I just want to let him calm down a little first, you know?”

Bobby shook his head. “You sure you aren’t just being a chicken shit? Seems the less time you take to apologize the less time he has to stew over it.”

“Maybe.” Dean admitted, knowing that at least half the reason he hadn’t driven straight back to Cas’s and begged for forgiveness was that he wasn’t sure Cas would have given it. 

“Grow a pair, Dean.” Bobby told him flatly. 

About half an hour after lunch Dean heard the distinctive growl of a camero roll into the lot and turned to find Gabriel storming over in a cloud of rage so thick it nearly knocked Dean on his butt. He skittered around to the far side of the truck he was working on, keeping the hunk of metal between him and the shorter man. 

“Winchester.” Gabriel drawled in a chillingly calm tone. “What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do. To. My. Brother?” 

Dean flinched as every single word was carefully enunciated. “Gabe, I, uh-“

It didn’t seem Gabe wanted an actual answer yet, though. “Cas has been shut in his room for twenty-four hours without a goddamn peep. I think he got up to piss around three this morning but other than that I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. What did you _do?_ ” 

Dean gripped the door of the truck, willing his legs to stop trembling. Cas hadn’t even eaten? Jesus. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so bad. 

“Gabe, I-“

“No!” Gabe shouted, pointing an accusing finger Dean’s way. Dean was a little surprised lightning didn’t shoot out of it with the way Gabe was glaring at him. “Fix this, Dean. Right now. Cas is a better person than you or I will ever be and if you ever hurt him again I will strip the flesh from your bones and make you watch as I feed it to wild dogs. Fix. It.”

And without another word he stormed out, leaving Dean to avoid the shocked stares of Benny and Ash. 

Fuck. 

 

****

 

Monday when Dean started his shift at the Roadhouse Sam, Jo, Alfie and Cas were already there. Jo called a hello and Alfie offered a timid smile, but Cas sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed firmly on his own hands. He looked pale. His hair was its usual artful mess but his lips looked bitten and rough. If Dean hadn’t known him so well by now he might have missed the signs but he could tell Cas was a mess. 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean murmured, unsure whether he wanted Cas to look up or not. He wasn’t sure he could take whatever was in Cas’s eyes. Sam peered between the pair of them as Cas nodded sharply in acknowledgement, his eyes suspicious. 

“Can I, uh,” Dean started, licking his lips nervously, “can I get you guys food?” 

Cas stood abruptly, shoving past a startled Alfie and marching out of the bar without a word. 

“Cas!” Sam called, sparing a withering glare for his brother as he followed Cas out into the street. 

“Woah.” Jo breathed, raising her eyebrows at Alfie. “What the hell?”

“Fuck.” Dean muttered, rubbing at his temple. He’d been hoping he could maybe just pretend nothing had happened, that he and Cas could just settle back into their regular flow. Clearly not. 

“He’s been weird all day.” Alfie observed and Jo nodded. 

“Yeah but… wow.”

Dean slunk back to the kitchen feeling like the world’s biggest dick. When he got home that night Sam was waiting in the living room to ambush him. 

“What could you possibly have done to put _that_ look on Cas’s face?” he demanded before Dean had even gotten all the way through the door. Dean suddenly had an insight into what it must feel like to be Alfie as he felt a flush crawl across his skin. Sam blinked, his mouth falling open. “Dean?” his tone wobbled uncertainly. He clearly wasn’t used to seeing his brash older brother embarrassed any more than Dean was used to the feeling.

“I don’t…” Dean began, but before he could finish Sam’s eyebrows bunched so sternly they practically fused and he realized that it was a lie. He did want to talk about it. For once he was ready to admit that he needed his overly-sensitive emotionally-in-tune little brother’s help wading out of this quagmire he’d tripped face-first into. 

“Sam…” he began and immediately stalled. How the hell was he supposed to breach this subject? Sam was John Winchester’s son, too, and he was a lot more like their father than he’d probably be willing to admit. He’d still been pretty little when John had started suspecting that Dean might not be one hundred percent straight and probably didn’t remember Dean being anything more than the ladies man he prided himself on being. How was he supposed to explain to his baby brother that while boobs were one of God’s greatest creations in his humble opinion, he occasionally wanted to suck a dick, too? Was this a conversation real people even had? 

“Dean?” Sam prompted, waving his hand in front of Dean’s vacant eyes. Dean blinked, a full body twitch sending him stumbling away from the counter. 

“Right. Uh… so I fucked up.”

“Yeah.” Sam said patiently, barely containing an eye-roll.“I got that part.” 

Dean stood silently trembling and trying not to choke on his own tongue for a solid minute before Sam sighed and crossed the room, pulling Dean over to the futon by his shoulders and shoving him down into a sitting position. 

“Get yourself together.” He said calmly, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Go shower. You smell like beer and fries. And when you get out we’re gonna talk about this. Ok?” 

Dean nodded gratefully and slunk off to the bathroom. 

 _Alright, Winchester_ , Dean said to himself when he had the shower start running. _So you kinda came out today. To Raphael of all people. What the hell were you thinking?_ What had he been thinking? To annoy the little shithead, first of all. To shut his stupid bigoted mouth. To protect Cas. 

 _Well_ _you did a great goddamn job of that, didn’t you?_ He chastised himself. _You practically assaulted the kid. And then told him it was for a fucking joke._

It hadn’t been a joke. It may have started as a joke, but by the time he’d kissed Cas he’s practically forgotten Finnerman was even on the same planet. And all his objections, all his reasons it was a terrible idea had floated away with that cinnamon smell that always floated around Cas, those eyes on him wide and surprised. 

Fuck. 

Faster than he wanted he’d moved robotically through his shower routine and turned it off. He emerged in a towel and sidled into Sam’s room to dress in a t-shirt and a pair of soft lounge pants. He threw some socks on too, needing the extra security for the conversation ahead. He came back, his hair dripping onto the shoulders of his t-shirt. Sam had settled into his usual armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. As Dean flopped onto the futon Sam raised his eyebrows and twitched his chin in a “go on” motion. 

Dean sighed. Probably best to rip the band-aid off all at once. 

“I kissed Cas.” He said, staring at the wall over Sam’s left shoulder. A drop of water dangled distractingly from his left ear as he waited for Sam to respond.

There was a solid forty seconds of silence before Sam cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” he said, his voice devoid of all inflection. 

Dean groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes. “Don’t make me say it again, Sammy.” He pleaded. 

“You kissed Cas.” Sam said. Oh god, Dean might actually burst into flames before this conversation was over. 

“Yeah.” He sighed. 

“You kissed him.” Dean dropped his hand to glare at his little brother, who threw his arms up in defence. “Sorry but, uh… to be honest that is not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, neither was I.” Dean admitted. “It just sort of happened.”

“Why?” Sam sounded mystified. Of course he wouldn’t have seen that coming. Dean had been pretty careful over the years not to let that side of himself show, not even to himself. 

“I don’t know, Sammy.” Dean sighed. It was a lie, of course. He knew exactly why. “Because I wanted to.” If Sam’s eyes got any wider they’d probably roll right out of his face. 

“You wanted to.” He repeated, like Dean was speaking a foreign language. 

“Yeah.” 

“You kissed him because you wanted to. You can’t just kiss someone because you _want_ to!”

“Sam.” Dean pleaded, rubbing his temple. 

“Sorry. Uh… so you kissed Castiel.”

“Yeah.” 

“And…” Sam said slowly, the look of careful nonchalance he got when he thought he was being sneaky crawling over his face, “and Cas is angry?” 

Dean shook his head. “Angry doesn’t seem like the right word. Sickened is probably closer.”

Sam’s eyebrows were practically merging with his hairline. “What makes you say that?” he asked carefully. 

“Do you have to _look_ at me when we talk about this?” Dean demanded, flopping childishly face-down on the couch. 

“Dean.” Sam snapped. He wasn’t about to let Dean distract him, apparently. “What exactly happened?”

Dean rolled his head to the side so he could breath, chewing petulantly on his lip. “I don’t know, Sam.” He admitted. “We were having a good morning. Got to the game early enough I could grab some food for us. Cas brought me a hat…” he motioned vaguely to where the green bomber was sitting on the little entryway table, his throat clenching at the memory of the little blush that had heated Cas’s cheeks as Dean had teased him. 

“And then?” Sam urged. 

“And then Finnerman showed up.” Dean growled. 

Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Of course he did. And that for some reason made you kiss Castiel?”

“Could you stop _saying_ it?” Dean pleaded. “Look, the guy was being a total dick. He kept pushing. You know what he’s like.”

Sam nodded but his eyes were steely. “And how many times have you told me that’s no excuse to break?” 

Dean nodded. He’d told Sam about a million times that he was stronger than Raphael, that he could let that shit go. And it had taken about four sentences to goad Dean into doing the stupidest thing he’d done in recent memory. “I know, I know. But Sammy…” he sighed. “He came after Cas. He was trying to get me to… he was trying to make Cas sound wrong. Like he was some sick pervert just for being gay. He was trying to tell me that Cas was disgusting, that I should be ashamed to be around him. To want him near me.” 

Sam’s eyes had gone all watery and Dean shoved his head deeper into the pillow. 

“And I was just sick of it, Sam. I was just sick of the whole idea that… that it was wrong to want what you want. What the fuck does it matter who you’re sleeping with as long as they’re not a serial killer or something? Cas is a good guy. Great, even. Why should the fact that he likes other dudes take away from that at all? Why do people _care_ so damn much?” He blew out an exhausted breath. “I guess Raphael being a dickhead just sort of brought up some shit I’ve been trying not to think about.” 

Sam was silent for a long moment but Dean could practically hear the gears in his brain clicking along. “Dad?” he said finally, his voice soft. 

Dean sniffed, closing his eyes. “Yeah.” He confirmed. “Dad.” Another long moment of silence followed as he let the memory roll over him. “Caught me looking once when I was thirteen or so. Made sure I knew I’d be better off sticking to girls if I was smart.”

“Oh.” Sam breathed, shocked. 

“He didn’t threaten me or anything. He just… he said it was sick. Wrong. Fucked up. Only weak-minded men fucked other dudes. I didn’t want him to think of me like that.”

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was heartbroken.

“I’m not gay, Sammy.” He continued when he could force the words out. “Although I guess I’m not really straight, either. Not totally. I’m like… I don’t know, seventy-five percent straight.”

“You’re bi?” Sam suggested gently. 

Dean scowled. “Sam.” Did he have to actually say everything? It made it so much worse. 

“Well what would you call it?” Sam demanded, exasperated. 

“I just…” Dean rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I can appreciate a good-looking guy every now and then. And Cas is a good looking guy.” 

“So you kissed your best friend with no warning because Raphael was enough of a dick that you realized Cas is a good looking guy?” Sam asked incredulously. 

“Cas isn’t my best friend.” Dean protested. 

“Oh really?” Sam snarked. “You haven’t been spending practically all of your free time with him for the last month and a half? You didn’t steal his new number from my phone so you could text him movie quotes he won’t get? You didn’t spend all last Sunday at the Roadhouse teaching him to play pool on your one day off? When was the last time you even went out for a drink with Benny? Or Ash? Or anyone?” 

Dean groaned, rolling onto his back and scrubbing his hands across his face. “Alright, so maybe he’s my best friend. Or he was. Before I pulled this boneheaded move.”

“And you didn’t explain it or anything?” Sam was probably about as pissed at Dean as Dean was out himself. 

“I panicked, man!” he cried, shoving up into a sitting position. “He looked so scared. I told him it was all a joke, just to piss Finnerman off.” 

Sam’s face darkened dangerously. “You did _what?”_ he hissed. Dean shuffled back against the futon shamefacedly. 

“I told you, I panicked.” He defended weakly. “Truth is I wasn’t even thinking about Finnerman. I’ve been trying not to kiss Cas for frigging weeks now, talking myself out of it.” Sam blinked furiously and Dean pushed on before he could lose his nerve, the whole story tumbling out in a mess. “He’s just a kid. And his life has been shit since he got here. He doesn’t need his friend hitting on him and making shit weird. So I’ve been trying not to think about it. I’m a frigging pro at that by now. But then in the car and then the hat and… and just…” he floundered. “I don’t know I thought I was sticking it to Raphael, letting him know that Cas is better than him by miles. He asked if I was fucking him or letting him fuck me and I just snapped. I basically told him it was none of his business if Cas and I were fucking. He was so pissed and it just felt so _good_ to admit it, to tell him that I didn’t fucking care what he thought.”

Sam was caught between puppy eyes and bitchface as he stared at his brother. “So when a high school kid comes after you you take your displaced father issues and throw them at Cas by kissing him and then immediately telling him it was a joke even though you had wanted to kiss him for real for weeks.”

Dean nodded, wishing the futon would just swallow him already. Maybe he could suffocate himself if he just laid back down again.

“Dean, even for you that is pretty fucked up.” Sam sighed, rubbing at his nose tiredly. 

“Yeah.” Dean snorted. “Personal best, hu?”

“Well, you have to fix it.” Sam said decisively, as if it were really that easy. 

“Yeah? How?” Dean demanded with an ugly laugh. “I _assaulted_ the kid, Sam. I just put my arm around him and kissed him without even…” he shook his head, unable to finish. 

Sam pursed his lips, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “Well Dean, I know you’ll probably break out in hives but you’re gonna have to talk to him about it. Tell him it wasn’t a joke, that you’re an emotionally constipated moron and you’re sorry for springing it on him like that. Then it’s up to him what to do with it.” 

Dean groaned, jamming a fist into his eye. “Sam, the way he looked at me…” 

Sam wasn’t brooking any arguments though. “Grow up, Dean.” He snapped, sounding more like Ellen than Dean had ever heard him. “You fucked this up, you’ve got to fix it. You owe it to Cas.” 

Sam was right, damnit. He’d fucked up royally. It wasn’t Cas’s fault Dean was a dipshit, and he owed it to the kid to explain that Cas wasn’t a joke to him. If he still couldn’t forgive Dean once he knew the whole story then… well. He supposed he couldn’t really blame the kid.

“Ok, Sammy.” He agreed quietly. 

“Good.” Sam nodded, satisfied. He stood, stretching his to his ludicrous full height. His knuckles brushed the ceiling as he threw his arms over his head and groaned. “I’m going to bed. You get your head together and talk to Cas in the morning, alright?” 

“Sure. Thanks, Sammy.”

“Dean?” 

Dean twisted his head to see Sam shuffling uncertainly in the doorway to his room. “Yeah?”

“You uh, you know I don’t care if you’re bi, right?” Sam said, his bangs falling over his face. 

Dean squirmed. “One crisis at a time, ok, Sammy?” he groaned. 

“Alright but, I really don’t. You’re my asshat big brother whether you’re into girls or guys okay?”

Dean chuckled, the knot of panic in his stomach loosening just a touch. “Thanks. Bitch.” 

Sam snorted. “Night, Jerk.”

 


	23. A Frightful Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks!!! This chapter puts that word-count goal at exactly 20,000!! That leave me about 19.5 hours to get another 5,000 out there and slay that personal goal! I apologize if this feels a bit rough but I am going in whole hog here with little to no editing to reach this goal.  
> Your responses to this fic continue to amaze and flatter me and I'm so grateful for the support I've received here. Hold on tight for a lot of hand-holding and angst galore, I promise to see you at the other end.

Castiel lay atop his quilt staring at the ceiling. It was nearing ten o’clock but he hadn’t even considered sleep yet. The whole day had drifted past in a haze, Raphael’s belligerent glare glancing off him unnoticed. Jo and Alfie had each asked him what was wrong the moment they’d seen him but he’d shrugged and told them he was only tired. He wasn’t sure if they believed him but he found he didn’t particularly care.In fact the only part of the day that broke through into clear focus was the horrible instant when Dean’s voice had hit his ear. 

“Hey, Cas.” 

He had sounded so small and thin. He knew. He’d felt it in Cas’s lips, the longing, the joy. He’d felt it and known and it had scared him. That was why he’d looked so terrified when Cas had opened his eyes, why he’d explained it away so quickly. And now he was scared of Cas’s reaction to him, like Cas might crumble if he spoke any louder. Cas couldn’t stand it. He hadn’t wanted to go to the Roadhouse at all but it was closing on midterms and he had promised Alfie and Jo that he would help them with their Geometry studies. Even the pathetic ache in his chest wasn’t enough to bring him to making excuses when they were counting on him. So he’d gone. But sitting there, hearing the fear in Dean’s voice… it was more than Castiel could bear. He’d fled, followed closely by a concerned Sam. 

“Castiel!” Sam had shouted, catching the sleeve of his coat as he was about to dodge blindly across the street. “Cas, talk to me. What is going on with you two?” 

When Castiel turned to face him he caught something close to panic in Sam’s face. It struck him as funny, how a few months ago there hadn’t been anyone in the world who thought Castiel even had emotions and now there were people who could take one look at him and see straight into his head. If it were any other time he’d have felt something. He’d have marvelled at how life could so quickly change, how just knowing the right people could make it so much brighter. At any other time he’d have felt loved. As it was he felt vulnerable, exposed to Sam’s gentle gaze in a way that made him squirm. 

“Please, Sam.” He’d choked, tugging his sleeve from the taller boy’s grasp. “I want to go home.” 

Sam had stepped a bit closer, shielding Castiel from the biting wind with his body. It was freezing out and Cas had left his gloves and hat back in the booth. He wasn’t going back for them. 

“Ok, Cas.” Sam had murmured, patting his shoulder gently. “But let me drive you. I’ll get Jo’s keys, ok? Just wait here.” Too numb to argue, Cas had waited in the cold until Sam reappeared to drive him home. They didn’t speak at all but Cas could see Sam sneaking glances at him from behind his hair. The tiny curl of guilt Castiel felt in worrying Sam was swept away in the swirl of his heartache. 

Cas had thanked him for the ride and shut the door before Sam could attempt to talk any more. He truly loved his friend for the concern he was showing but at the same time he didn’t want it. Gabriel was busy with a rush of customers so Castiel got away with waving at him from the door before immediately retreating to his room upstairs. He methodically worked through the stacks of papers that were due the next day and hardly saw them at all. The world would not stop for the ache in his chest, he reminded himself harshly. When the last worksheet was finished he had lain down atop his covers fully clothed and let the tears come. As dusk turned to full dark he just lay there, replaying those few moments in his head over and over and wishing he could erase them entirely. 

A soft rap on the door announced his brother’s arrival. Castiel sat up, wiping at his eyes to catch any stray tears. He had cried twice tonight without even noticing he was doing it and Gabriel did not need to see him like that. 

“It was Dean, wasn’t it.” He wasn’t actually asking, just telling. Castiel shook his head anyway. 

“It was me, Gabriel.” He murmured, staring at his brother’s shoes. It was his naive belief that he could be around Dean, see him smile and hear him laugh and not want more, not give in to that terrible, frightful hope, that’s what had caused this mess. He was to blame. “You warned me. And I… I should have listened.” 

“Cas.” Gabriel sighed, shifting unhappily. 

“It’s alright.” Cas assured him, forcing his head up. He had known all along that Dean did not care for him like that. The wild spark of pleasure when for a moment he had thought perhaps he did was more than he had ever expected to be granted. Once the pain dulled a bit he would be able to be near Dean again, to be calm and easy in his company. He had had that one joy and now he would forget it. They would go back to the way they had been before. Colleagues. Friends. 

“I will be alright, Gabriel.” Cas said more forcefully, willing it to be true. “Only I forgot for a moment. I hoped. It was a mistake I won’t make again.”

Gabriel’s frown was a sorrowful thing. With a shuddering sigh he came to sit beside Cas, his hands clasped carefully between his knees. Castiel waited, expecting his brother to offer a hug or some words of encouragement. Instead he asked, “Do you know why I left home, Cas?”  

Castiel raised his head, taking in the sharp line of Gabriel’s profile. All trace of a smile was gone from his usually jovial features, hard lines settling into the corners of his eyes and making him look years older. Quite like Michael, Castiel realized with a chill shudder. 

“Because our father wanted to dictate your life and you were unhappy having choices made for you.” He said, wondering what this could have to do with Dean. 

Gabriel chuckled, a flat, humorless sound. “That’s a little part of it, yeah. But come on, Cas. You think I wouldn’t have found a way to work around that if I’d really wanted to? You think I would have left you and Lucy and Anna behind just cause Dad was an asshole?” 

Castiel blinked. 

“No.” Gabriel sighed, running his fingers through his hair. It was getting quite long now, Castiel noticed, curling at the ends into gentle little swoops. “By the time you came along Michael was already the massive dick we know and dislike today. But when I was little he was just Mikey. Just my big brother. He was always smart, always stronger than me, but light and loving and _fun_ to be around. He was _funny_ , Cas. And Mum.” Gabe sighed, tipping his head back. Cas saw tears glittering in the corners of Gabriel’s whiskey eyes, watched his throat bob and knot. “Mum was beautiful. When she was alive our house was full of music. She could sing. So could Mikey. Lucy never quite could but he was a hell of a dancer. Mum used to dance with us while she cooked, singing songs into the wooden spoons and starting towel-whipping fights. Our family was…” he trailed off. 

“And then she got sick.” 

Castiel knew the story. His mother Margaret had been diagnosed with breast cancer when she was pregnant with Anael. After Anna was born she’d undergone years of treatment. The doctors had advised her against having more children while she was so frail and so for years she and their father had waited, focusing on her recovery. She’d had a mastectomy, chemo, and nearly died. When her doctors had finally declared her to be in remission she had insisted that she wanted a fifth child. And so, after a full two years of clear screenings his father had finally agreed and Castiel had been born. When he was six months old they’d found a new cancer, more aggressive even than the first. Despite a second mastectomy the cancer had metastisized into her lungs and she’d died shortly before his second birthday. 

“Once she was gone,” Gabriel shrugged, his voice barely more than a whisper, “they all changed. No one smiled, our father least of all. Michael tried to be there for him. He devoted every waking minute to making our dad proud. But he was so like Mum. He had her voice. He had her eyes. It killed our dad to see it. So Michael changed. He stopped singing. He stopped laughing. He hardened his heart against the love he’d felt for her. It was like one day I woke up and Mikey was just gone. I’d lost my mum and my big brother in just a couple years. Lucifer and Anna followed, more slowly. Even Lucy couldn’t stand up against our dad, not for long. I watched them fade to grey, hollow themselves out to keep from hurting anymore. And it killed me, Cas. It _killed_ me.”

Castiel reached for Gabriel’s hand, clasping it in his own silently. Gabe looked at their tangled fingers, tears spilling over a small smile. 

“But there was always you.” Gabe continued softly. “You were more like Mum than any of us and you’d barely known her. She was good, too. She loved everyone. She wanted to know about people and give to people and protect people. I was gonna protect you from them. From Dad. They could run my life like a board meeting if they wanted to but I was damned if they took you away from me, too.”

Castiel felt his heart clench and tightened his grip. 

“That day we were at the homeless shelter, passing out socks.” Gabriel smiled fondly, a tiny mischievous spark in his eyes. “You were such a goody-goddamn two-shoes. You _loved_ hanging out with the homeless people, giving them stuff and talking to them. I don’t think you ever saw them as any different than anyone else. Do you remember Martin?” 

Castiel frowned, trying to trace the name in his memory. It was vaguely familiar, a scent of cigarettes and liquor. “No.” He admitted finally, seeing a flare of sadness in Gabe’s face. 

“Ah.” He said sadly. “He was your best bud for a while. He was a homeless man, probably about fifty-five or sixty. A nice guy. He stayed away from the shelters because he didn’t trust them but he would come to the church to keep warm and clean. You talked to him all the time. He was an alcoholic and smoked about three packs a day when he could get them but you didn’t care at all. You liked him. He would tell you these crazy German fairy tales and you used to eat them up.” Gabriel chuckled, remembering.

“Dad never let us have allowances back then. We did chores because he told us to, not because we got paid. But I had a job by then and I would sometimes give you money if you asked for it. You used to like buying bagels and hot chocolates for street people when it was cold.”

“I remember.” Cas said, a weak smile finding its way onto his face. “We would bring cinnamon for them to sprinkle in it if they wanted.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel smiled back. “Well on the way home that day we saw Martin in the park and it was freezing. There was a big storm coming and we went to tell Martin that he needed to find a place to hole up until it passed. I thought you’d be all over it, probably buy him a hot chocolate and listen to his crazy stories for a while. But you didn’t say a thing. You wouldn’t even look at him when he talked to you. I couldn’t believe it. When we were on our way home again I asked you what was wrong. I figured maybe he’d said something that scared you or you were feeling sick or something.” Gabriel’s voice grew hard, his lips tightening into a snarl as his grip pinched Cas’s hand. 

“But you said we shouldn’t talk to Martin anymore. We shouldn’t be buying him food. You said that good Christians didn’t cater to the weakness of lesser men. That if Martin wanted to better himself he would give up the earthly vices of cigarettes and the beer and turn himself over to God. Only then would he be worthy of our charity.” 

Castiel gaped. That didn’t even sound like him. 

“It was the worst, most hard-hearted thing I’d ever heard you say and I knew it had come straight out of our father’s mouth.” Gabriel growled. “I sat you down in that freezing cold park and told you how wrong you were. I told you that loving people who were less fortunate than us, weaker than us, was what made us good people. I told you that judgement is reserved for the Lord and that you should never let your heart harden to the misfortunes of your fellow men. And then we went home.” 

Castiel wished he could remember that day. It was clearly still fresh and raw in Gabriel’s heart and he couldn’t help but feel responsible for that. 

“That was the night I left. I had never yelled at Dad before. But I yelled at him that night. I screamed. I told him he was killing us all with his hatred and grief. I told him he was killing Mum all over again.” Castiel gasped and Gabriel cast him a defiant look. “He was, Cas. He was stomping all over her memory. She’d have wept to see you so empty.

“Dad told me to get out and not come back. I couldn’t be there anymore. I couldn’t watch him kill you too. It would have destroyed me. I left. And every day since I’ve wondered if I should have stayed, protected you, kept your light alive.”

“You did.” Castiel assured him. “For years. You spoke to me, you wrote. Until father found your email address.” 

Gabe grimaced, guilt thick in every muscle of his body. “You survived him, Castiel, and you did it alone. You came through brilliant and shining and _good._ I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Gabriel.” Was all Cas could say. 

Gabriel stared back at him, something intense and desperate in his face. “Don’t let it all go to shit now, Cas. Life hurts sometimes. We love and we fight and we get crushed and we spring back. That’s what life is. Hurting is knowing that it all means something. So don’t stop hoping. Don’t stop loving. I said it ten years ago and I’m saying it now: don’t let your heart harden.” 

They sat in silence for a long time before Castiel could speak again. “I promise.” He whispered as Gabriel’s arms came around him. 

 

****

 

He didn’t recall falling asleep but when he woke again it was past one in the morning and Gabriel was nowhere to be seen. His room was lit only by the angry red flash of his digital clock. There was a full glass of water on the nightstand that hadn’t been there before and a small smile graced his face. The ache in his chest was still hot and bloody but Gabriel’s words echoed in his mind. _Hurting is knowing that it all means something._  

He wouldn’t regret. 

He sat up, his head spinning for a moment until he got his bearings. Something had woken him, and he listened for what it might be. After a few moments a muted ping called his attention to his nightstand. 

The phone. It was still in there from the day before. He often left it behind, still unused to having a phone at all, and he hadn’t been in any mood to speak with anyone today. It was probably Sam checking in on him again and Castiel rubbed at his eyes before opening the drawer. He didn’t want to let Sam worry about him. He could talk to him with a bit more calm now, put his mind at ease. 

He dug the phone out, surprised to find texts from Jo, Sam, and Alfie all waiting, but the newest series was from Dean. Even reading his name in the cold font of his phone made Cas’s gut spasm painfully, but curiosity got the better of him and he opened the message. Surely that Dean was speaking to him at all was a good sign? Perhaps he wanted to salvage their friendship? 

 

**Dean: You awake? - 11:53pm**

 

**Dean: Look, I know you’re probably pissed at me and I get that but I need to talk to you. - 12:10am**

 

**Dean: I need to apologize. You deserve and explanation and I feel extra shitty doing it in a text. Please call me when you get these. - 12:34am**

 

**Dean: Cas, please? - 1:32am**

 

Castiel stared at his phone, at the increasingly desperate messages. Dean wanted to apologize? He fumbled to open the keyboard, typing without really even looking at what he was saying. 

 

**Castiel: Hello, Dean. - 1:35am**

 

Less than a minute passed before his phone vibrated in his hand.

 

**Dean: Cas! I thought you must be asleep. Can we talk? - 1:35am**

 

**Castiel: What do you need to speak to me about? - 1:36am**

 

It was childish and cruel but Castiel couldn’t help himself. There was a much longer pause before Dean replied. 

 

**Dean: I fucked up. I need to apologize. Can I come over? - 1:42am**

 

Castiel frowned at his phone. 

 

**Castiel: Dean, it is nearly two in the morning. - 1:43am**

 

**Dean: I’m on my way. - 1:45am**

 

Barely fifteen minutes later Castiel heard the purr of the impala rumbling through the night, followed by the slam of a heavy door. Afraid that Gabriel would be less than pleased to welcome Dean in at such an hour and after such a day, Castiel shoved his slippers on and darted down the stairs before Dean could ring the bell. He burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs and smacked straight into Dean’s chest, letting out an indelicate _woof!_ sort of sound. 

Dean stumbled back, huffing as he connected with the doorjamb. 

“Cas.” He breathed, his eyes wide and panic-stricken. He was wearing pyjama pants and a ragged t-shirt, his father’s leather jacket thrown on over top and his work boots from the garage unlaced on his feet. Cas carefully straightened, making sure there was plenty of space between his body and Dean’s. 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas breathed, his voice sounding foreign in his own ears. 

Dean winced. “Uh, sorry to just… barge over like this. I uh, couldn’t sleep.”

Castiel refused to flinch. He was not to be pitied. He was not some fragile thing that would burst because Dean pushed too hard. He squared his shoulders and looked straight into those troubled green eyes. “What did you need to talk to me about, Dean?” he said calmly. 

“Right.” Dean shook himself, glancing up to the top of the stairs with a worried frown. Castiel looked over his shoulder to find Gabriel standing in the doorway glaring at Dean as though hoping he could disintegrate him with the power of his gaze alone. 

“Winchester.” He said icily. 

“Uh, hey, Gabe.” Dean smiled nervously. 

“Make it quick, Dean. I gotta be up at five to make a wedding cake.” With that somewhat tame warning Gabriel winked at Cas and disappeared back into the apartment. When Cas turned back Dean was wearing an odd half-smile. 

“Hey, can we talk in the car?” he asked, his eyes pleading. “I just… I gotta say some stuff to you that I’d rather not say in a dingy hallway.”

Castiel stiffened. What could Dean possibly have to say that required the security of his car around him? That it was over? That they couldn’t be friends with Castiel feeling so differently from Dean? A yawning pit opened in his stomach as he nodded, following Dean out into the freezing night. 

The wind had died down since the afternoon but a crystal thin chill had settled in the air, stabbing at Castiel’s nostrils as he followed Dean to the impala. The car was warmer, the heat of Dean’s drive over still lingering. Castiel settled into his seat, thinking that just over a day ago he had sat here content and secure. 

Dean slid behind the wheel, his fingers tapping manically against his thighs as he stared out the windshield. Castiel waited, unwilling to break the tense silence that settled over them. He tipped his head back against the seat and waited. He could hear a siren’s hollow wail far away, the distant hum of traffic from the freeway, and the short, sharp huffs of Dean’s breaths. If he closed his eyes perhaps he could stay in this moment a little longer, before everything changed and he was forced away. 

He had promised Gabriel, but in this moment, this flash of peace before the storm tore him apart, it was hard to remember that his heart was not his enemy. He would tear it out now if it meant he wouldn’t lose this., stuff it in the glove compartment and leave it there for Dean to find the next time he was looking for a napkin to wipe his grease-stained fingers on. If he could just have one more day of this tenuous peace here in Dean’s car, sitting alongside his friend, expecting nothing, asking nothing, giving everything he could, he would let his heart turn to stone in his chest. 

“Cas.” Dean finally spoke into the stillness. 

Castiel opened his eyes, turning to find Dean staring straight ahead. His eyes were tight, his jaw stiff. Every line of his body said he was going to battle, but with whom Castiel wasn’t entirely sure. 

“Yes, Dean?” he asked softly, barely more than a whisper. 

“You’re not a joke to me.” Dean took his silence as a sign to continue. “I’m sorry I did that. I’m sorry I just grabbed you and… kissed you.” Even in the dark Castiel could see the flush spread over Dean’s lovely cheekbones. “I shouldn’t have.” A tiny flake of Castiel’s crumbling heart lodged in his windpipe. He couldn’t have spoken if he’d wanted to.

Dean took a steadying breath and Castiel prepared for the end. Goodbye. He was going to say goodbye. 

“Not without talking to you first.”

Castiel froze. What? He couldn’t seem to force the question out of his mouth but it must have come across in his stunned silence because Dean carried on. 

“I shouldn’t have let Raphael push me into a move I should have had the guts to make on my own.” 

A brilliant searing flare of hope surged up Castiel’s spine, his fragile heart lighting up from the inside out. “Dean?” he breathed, and he sounded like himself again. 

“I shouldn’t have touched you without your permission.” Dean recited, and Castiel could tell he’d practiced this speech. “I shouldn’t have made that about anyone but you. I should have had more respect for you than that. I’m sorry.” 

Dean felt guilty? Dean felt like he had somehow violated Castiel’s trust? Well, perhaps he had. But he wasn’t angry? He hadn’t felt the delight that had spread through every cell of Castiel’s body when he’s kissed him?

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel said softly, barely containing the urge to grip Dean’s arm as tightly as he could. Instead he clasped his hands in his lap, determined to hear Dean out. 

“So you forgive me?” Dean asked, peeking up at Cas. Cas could only see the faint glimmer of his eyes as they cut across the front seat, the outline of Dean’s ear in the streetlamp. 

“You kissed me.” Castiel said and Dean flinched. 

“Yeah.”

“You said it was a joke.” 

Another flinch. “Yeah.”

“And now you’re saying that you regret the reasons for which you kissed me.”

“Yeah, Cas.” Dean murmured, gripping the knee of his pants. “I…” he made a strange little choking sound and Cas wondered if he was about to bolt. Perhaps if they hadn’t been in his car he already would have. “I fucked up. I’ve been telling myself that I should leave you alone. That I should just ignore my stupid feelings and let you live your life. We should just be friends, you know? But you’re _not_ a joke to me. You’re smart and tough and Gabriel’s right; you’re fucking _good_ , Cas. And your life has been pretty shitty these past few months. I didn’t think you’d want some loser mechanic who barely graduated high school getting all weird on you.”

“Dean.” Castiel admonished sharply. As much as he needed to hear what Dean had to say he wasn’t about to let him abuse himself like that. “You are not a loser.”

“The point is,” Dean pushed on, nearly tripping over his words, “that I just tried to shove it all to the back of my mind. But you’re… you’re too _much_ , Cas. I try to get my head on straight and then those big frigging eyes are staring at me from inside my own brain. And the thing is I’ve never admitted to liking guys before. Not to anyone. Not even Sammy. My dad, he kinda fucked with my head about that and I…” Dean paused, drawing in a trembling breath. 

“But that’s not your problem. I shouldn’t have let Raphael scratch at that wound. I shouldn’t have taken out my big gay epiphany on you. I’m sorry.”

“Dean.” Castiel sighed, feeling a new happiness settle on his skin. “I forgive you.” He slipped his hand into Dean’s where it rested on his thigh, stroking his thumb over the rough knuckles. 

Dean jumped, his hand reflexively tightening. “Just like that?” he balked, as though he’d expected Cas to yell at him. 

“I thought you came to apologize.” Cas explained gently, leaning his head back again. 

“I did.” Dean said, confused. 

“No, apologize for not feeling the same way about me that I feel about you.” Cas explained, his thumb unable to stop stroking Dean’s skin. 

“Hu?” Dean stuttered eloquently. 

Cas fought down a giddy chuckle. “Dean, I have loved you since I first saw you. I have grown to appreciate you more and more since. Your humor, your kindness, your devotion to those that you love… You are good too, Dean. I once thought of you as luminous, but I have learned that the term doesn’t do you justice. You are incandescent.” He had no idea where this flowery language came from, or how Dean must be reacting to it. Knowing Dean he was blushing from head to toe, wishing the driver’s seat would swallow him whole and rescue him from praise.

“I thought that you had felt my response to your kiss and realized how desperately I wanted you to do it again. I thought you’d seen that while I valued your friendship more than almost any other I would always want more. I thought it had made you uncomfortable. I thought you had come to say goodbye.” Dean’s breath hitched and he squeezed Cas’s hand in tacit denial. “So it’s easy to forgive you, Dean, when you tell me that you’re only sorry you didn’t tell me that you _wanted_ to kiss me before you did.” 

“Cas.” Dean breathed. Castiel hummed, sweeping his thumb over Dean’s knuckles again. “Cas, can I kiss you again?” 

“Only if you want to.” Cas wondered that he could tease Dean at a time like this. That he could smile when his heart felt so near to bursting was it’s own little miracle. 

“I want to.” Dean said, and leaned across the seat. 

This time it was not unexpected but it was just as much of a surprise. Castiel found himself caught in a moment where time seemed to both race and still entirely, the world fading in the buzzing glare of Dean. The dry pressure of Dean’s lips against his sent a trilling little spark down into his toes. 

He pressed forward, wanting more. 

Dean’s mouth dropped open slightly, a tiny stripe of wet heat teasing Castiel’s bottom lip. The sound Castiel made was one he’d never heard before, a half-sighed whine that barely broke the silence of the car. Dean responded, an inarticulate growl rumbling in his throat as he pushed forward. 

“Cas.” He breathed, only breaking contact long enough to loosen their hands and slide his into Cas’s hair. 

And then Dean was everywhere, his chest pressed awkwardly to Cas’s, his knee wedged up against Cas’s hip as he strained sideways along the seat. His breath was in Cas’s nose as he huffed against his cheek, his fingers toying with Cas’s earlobe and tangling in his hair. 

For his part Cas could only hold on, the heat of Dean’s body nearly overwhelming. 

A sharp blast broke them apart, both blinking in the near-dark. 

“Wha?” Cas breathed before Dean began to giggle. It rolled into a chuckle and then a full-on laugh as he collapsed back against the driver’s side door, clutching his sides and gasping for breath. 

“I- I hit…the goddamn horn…with my ass.” He cackled, and Cas couldn’t help but join him. 

When the laughter finally died down Castiel felt better than he could ever remember feeling. 

“You should probably get inside, Cas.” Dean said quietly, but the smile was still in his voice. “It’s late. You’ve got school in the morning and if I’m late again Bobby might actually skin me.”

“Alright, Dean.” Castiel agreed easily, feeling light as air. He turned to open his door and found a hand around his wrist. 

“Can I kiss you, before you go?” 

“Alright, Dean.” Cas repeated, happy to his core. 

 


	24. Remarkably Unhelpful Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOOT WOOT! That’s a grand total of 25,278 words added to this fic since I declared the intention of 25,000. Bonus, I cracked the 100,000 word mark. Thank you to everyone for your continued support and amazing feedback. It really makes me happier than you can imagine. I sort of cheated here because I’m currently working in Europe and posting this at nearly three am, but as it’s still November 30th back home for a few more hours I’m claiming my win.  
> Now that my little personal challenge is complete I'll probably take a few days off but I promise more updates will follow soon. Even though it's by far the longest thing I've ever written there's still a ton I want to do with this fic, so expect many more chapters in December.

 Dean was still awake when he heard Sammy start to stir the next morning. He rolled up off his futon, folding his quilt with a few quick flicks and shoved his pillows off to one side. By the time Sam stumbled out of his room bare-chested and fumbling with the button of his jeans Dean had eggs, bacon, and a pot of coffee going. He slung some toast on a plate, whistling “Voodoo child” at an obnoxious volume. 

“Dean?” Sam grunted, wedging himself into one of the tiny kitchen chairs. His hair was a rat’s nest piled atop his head, his ears sticking out from under it like a rabbit’s. Dean laughed, plopping a cup of coffee down in front of him. 

“Morning, Sammy.” He said cheerfully, stabbing at his scrambled eggs with a war-scarred spatula. While Sam pulled a t-shirt over his head Dean piled at least three on a plate for Sammy, adding some bacon, toast, and an apple he’s sliced in deference to Sam’s usually herbivore habits. He was feeling pretty generous today, turned out. 

“Figured out how to talk to Cas, I guess?” Sam grumbled, snatching the fork Dean offered. He failed to stifle a massive yawn, spewing his morning breath all over Dean as he sat down across the table. Even that couldn’t dim Dean’s spirits. 

“All taken care of.” He informed Sammy smugly, shovelling a massive forkful of eggs into his face. He was absolutely starving. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking less than impressed. “You didn’t just send him a text, did you? Because that is really shitty, Dean.” 

Dean laughed, too happy to be offended. Besides Sammy knew him well enough to know exactly which dick moves he was likely to pull. “Nah. I took your advice. I manned up and I apologized. Drove over last night.” 

Sam blinked. “What? When?” 

“Around two.” Dean shrugged. “Gabe was kinda pissed.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Snorted Sam. “I can’t believe I slept through that.”

Dean just chuckled and scarfed his breakfast. Sam followed suit, slowly coming online as he got some food in him. He smoothed his hair down (mostly, anyway) and went looking for a pair of socks with a long strip of bacon hanging out of his mouth. 

“So you talked it out?” he asked after he’d washed his face and pulled on a soft red over-shirt. The sleep had cleared from his eyes and he was looking alert and happy, the disapproving frown of last night gone. 

Dean grinned goofily, feeling about ten feet tall. “Yep. Turns out Cas was all for letting things get a little physical.” 

Dean was expecting surprise, maybe even shock. Cas had been playing it pretty close to the vest after all, and even Dean, with his expert “has the hots for Dean” radar, hadn’t had any idea the kid had been wanting to jump his bones for months. Instead what he got was a painfully forced widening of Sam’s not-so-innocent eyes, a weird facsimile of Sam’s ‘oh, isn’t that interesting?’ face. He jutted his chin out, a comically exaggerated frown twisting his mouth as he bobbed his head up and down. That frigging dick. 

“You _knew?_ ” Dean demanded, outraged. Sammy had known this whole time that Cas wanted to bone him and he hadn’t said a goddamn word? “You just let me dangle like an idiot?” 

Sam flushed guiltily, burying his ears in a shrug. “What did you want me to do, Dean? Until about ten hours ago I didn’t even know you were into guys. I thought all that flirting with him was just you being… I don’t know. You.” 

Dean spluttered. “I have not been _flirting_ with Cas!” he protested. Sam shot him a classic ‘come on Dean’ eyebrow-twitch and Dean let his indignity dissipate. Ok. So yeah, he’d probably been flirting with Cas. For probably read: definitely. A lot. Alright, maybe constantly. For months. Yep.

“And Cas was really upset.” Continued Sam in his best ‘you cannot assault my logic’ voice. “I didn’t want to tell you he’d forgive you if he wasn’t going to.” Dean grumbled into his coffee cup and Sam pressed on. “Besides, would you have rather have heard it from him, or from me?”

Dean grinned stupidly again. “Yeah, that was pretty good.” 

Sam laughed as he started shoving books into his backpack. “So are you guys a thing now?” he asked, zipping it up and dropping it by the door. 

Dean blushed, scratching at his nose to hide his face. “We, uh, we didn’t really talk about that, actually.”

Sam paused where he was gathering his gargantuan shoes, peering at Dean over his shoulder. “You didn’t just say sorry and make out with him did you?” he asked suspiciously. Dean coughed. “Oh, Dean, gross!” Sam howled, chucking a shoe at Dean’s head. 

Dean dodged, laughing. “Come on, Sammy. Where’s your sense of romance?” 

Sam was smiling too as he retrieved his shoe and whacked Dean hard on the shoulder. “Dude, I’m very happy you got your shit together but rule one of you and Cas being together: I don’t need details.” 

“Then don’t ask for details.” Dean shot back. 

“Agreed.” Sam nodded, shoving his feet into his shoes. “We’re having an extra practice this afternoon so I won’t be at the Roadhouse.”

“Isn’t it supposed to snow?” Dean asked, glancing out the window at the lead-gray sky. 

“Yeah but we booked the gym for the whole afternoon just in case.”

“Gotcha.” Dean nodded. “I’m at Bobby’s the afternoon, anyway.”

Sam grinned at him. “With Cas?” 

“Yep.” Dean beamed. 

Sam laughed. “Keep the PDA to a minimum. I don’t think Ash or Benny need to see you getting your grope on.” 

Dean shrugged easily. “Bobby’s office has a door that locks.” He said. 

Sam groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “Gross, Dean.” 

“Hey, you brought that one up.” Dean reminded him, chucking his dirty napkin at Sam’s head. 

Sam dodged and scooped his keys up from the little table, tossing his bag over his shoulder. He turned, his expression all squishy and soft like the giant puppy he was. “I’m proud of you, Dean.” He said in that horrible Dr. Phil tone that never failed to set Dean’s skin crawling. Well, almost never. Right about now it was kinda the best sound Dean had heard in a long time. Except that little whatever-it-was Cas had made last night. That was a _great_ sound. 

“Ew, Dean!” Sam snapped, clearly catching the glassy sheen that slipped over his brother’s eyes.“Please don’t daydream about making out with my friend while I’m still in the room, ok?”

“Then get out of the room.” Dean advised breezily. 

With a final bitchface (it was only at about thirty percent strength) Sam disappeared, taking his girly affirmations with him. 

 

****

 

Cas couldn’t remember sleeping so well in weeks. His dreams were peaceful, just he and Sam standing on a hilltop watching a murmuration of starlings wheel and flush overhead. He and Gabriel sitting in the tree in his father’s garden, their legs dangling over starlit water. He and Dean watching a wide brown river as it rolled sluggishly by under the setting sun. He awoke feeling like he’d grown a new skin overnight, a brighter, cleaner one that he’d worn yesterday. 

He sat up, stretching luxuriantly and watching the watery dawn light waver on his ceiling. He could already hear Gabriel downstairs and smell chocolate fudge cake cooking but his alarm hadn’t gone off yet. That must mean it was somewhere between five and seven, which left him plenty of time to have a leisurely breakfast before Jo arrived to take him to school. 

Castiel smiled and drifted into the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of oatmeal. As he smashed up a banana and added the milk and oats he wondered how just twenty-four hours could so radically change a person. Yesterday he had dreaded the school day, unable to focus on anything but the hollow ache behind his ribs. Today he felt ready to tackle school head-on, prepared to face down Raphael, Rigby, the entire student body with the knowledge that he hadn’t lost his friend. He could face Jo and Alfie with a smile knowing that Dean wanted him. 

After breakfast he showered and dressed, checking the clock to find he still had another forty minutes before Jo was due to pick him up. He decided to see if he could lend his brother a hand. He gathered his things, including a fresh cup of milky coffee, and went downstairs to the shop. The front was still locked so Castiel let himself in through the kitchen door. 

Curtis looked up from a massive mixing bowl as Cas entered, a smudge of cocoa on his cheek. “Hey, Castiel.” He said, offering a gloved wave. 

“Good morning, Curtis.”

“Gabe’s just out in the front looking for the design.” 

Castiel smiled. Curtis was a very good baker, but not the brightest. He could rarely hold a conversation for long, and certainly not when he was trying to work. Castiel took the dismissal for what it was and with a nod pushed through the door to the front. 

“Good morning, Gabriel.” Cas said, finding his brother seated at one of the tables by the window. His sketchbook was in his hands and he was doodling with a blue pencil and a dreamy expression. 

“Hey, kiddo.” Gabe said, looking up. He looked happier today, too, the lines vanished from his forehead and his easy smile returned. “How ya feelin’?” 

Castiel smiled and sipped his coffee. Gabriel’s return to informality was comforting. “I’m very well.” He assured his brother. 

“I’d say you oughta be, after that little face-sucking session in Dean-o’s precious car.” Gabriel’s grin was sly and Castiel blushed furiously. 

When he’d climbed out of the impala last night, giddy and shaking, he’d recognized Gabriel’s silhouette at the window. But by the time he’d come up the stairs Gabriel had shut himself in his bedroom. Cas had done the same, unsure how much his brother had seen. 

Apparently he’d seen enough. 

“So you and Dean-o, hu?” Gabriel sighed, and for the life of him Castiel couldn’t tell how his brother felt about the idea. 

“Yes.” He said carefully, settling down to glance out the window. The street was still quiet, only a few of the neighbors setting off on their way to work. 

“Well good luck with that.” Gabriel chuckled, picking up his pencil again. “He’s so deep in the closet he’s finding Christmas presents but that’s for you two to sort out.”

That thought brought Castiel pause. 

According to Dean Castiel and Sam were the only to people in his life who knew he was interested in men, and Castiel wasn’t sure if he was allowed to share this new development. Not that he was planning to broadcast it, or anything. It was his and Dean’s business alone, but he would like to be able to discuss it with Sam and Jo if he needed to. They knew Dean better than he did after all. They loved Dean as much as they loved Castiel, but Cas knew firsthand how poorly someone could react to this type of news, even loved-ones. But Dean had been willing to flaunt a potential relationship in front of Raphael, so surely he wouldn’t worry about what Jo or Gabriel thought. Though honestly if Castiel had the choice between enduring Raphael’s taunts or Gabriel’s jokes he wasn’t entirely sure which he’d pick. 

Gabriel continued, ignoring Castiel’s thoughtful expression. “I guess I’m not that surprised that you had to pick someone so frigging difficult. You were always up for a challenge.” 

Castiel smiled through the steam of his mug. “He has his good points, too.” He said mildly

Gabe nodded, flashing Cas a cheeky grin. “That ass, for one thing.” He cackled when Castiel sputtered, nearly spilling coffee down his fresh shirt. “Good to see you smiling again, kid.” Gabe said, shoving his sketchbook across the table. “Now take a look at this. Too gaudy?” 

Castiel spent the next half hour helping his brother redesign the cake topper the Lancasters had requested into something a bit more special. Gabriel would sculpt it in spun sugar and fondant, paint it with chocolate and raspberry until he it was a work of art all its own. Castiel was so entranced in watching his brother’s deft fingers pull across the paper, a few sure strokes creating something beautiful with practically no effort. They were nearly forehead to forehead when Jo’s car pulled up. Castiel could see Sam’s mop of hair in the passenger’s seat as he bid a quick farewell to Gabriel and trotted back through the kitchen. Curtis was too busy glaring at a spoonful of cake batter to notice Castiel’s exit. 

Castiel rounded the building and threw himself into the back seat of Jo’s car, slamming the door so that it would actually close. 

“Someone’s in a good mood this morning.” Jo observed as she peeled away from the curb. Castiel caught Sam’s smile in the mirror and couldn’t contain a matching grin. 

“I slept quite well.” Was all he said. 

 

****

 

When Dean rolled into Singer Auto ten minutes before his shift he was clutching a ham and cheese sandwich and a six-pack of beer as a peace offering for Bobby. It may have been Sam who helped him work up the nerve to sort all that shit out with Cas but Bobby had given him the same solid advice. It wasn’t his fault Dean hadn’t been in any mood to follow it. 

Benny was elbow-deep in a Ford Taurus while Ash lounged near the coffee bar, his mullet frizzed out into a magnificent halo. 

“Dean Machine!” Ash crowed, springing from his chair. “You brought me goodies!” He threw a stringy arm around Dean’s neck and laid a hand over the six-pack. 

Dean shrugged him off, a sharp elbow drawing a startled _oomph_ from the squirrelly mechanic. “Back off Bobby’s present, Ash.” He drawled, stashing the sandwich in the office and the six-pack in the fridge. 

“You’re looking better, brother.” Benny observed, leaning a hip on the fender and wiping his hands on a rag. 

“Feeling better, too.” Dean grinned. He watched as the Benny and Ash traded a look and Ash shrugged. “Hey, you guys want to go out for a drink tomorrow night?” he asked. Sam was right. Dean had barely seen these guys over the last few weeks and that was just shitty. He wanted to celebrate, head to a bar and kick back with a few beers. Benny had a new girl Dean had barely heard about. And Ash was sure to have a few new stories since the last time they’d hung out. Whether or not they were true they were sure to be entertaining as hell. 

“Oh, hells yes!” Ash cried, punching a fist into the air. “Chase some tail and raise some hell!” 

Dean laughed and Benny rolled his eyes. 

“Oh Deany-bear won’t be chasing any tail, I don’t think.” Dean looked up to find Gabriel standing by the first bay, a bakery box braced under one arm and a sardonic expression on his face. “Am I right?” 

Dean chuckled, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. He hadn’t really planned on mentioning this new thing with Cas until he was more sure of it but he guessed that might not be an option after all. “Nah.” He said, flushing as two sets of eyes locked onto him. 

“Dean, you got a girl?” Ash demanded. 

Gabriel chuckled and Dean shot him an ugly look. “I got somebody, yeah.” He said carefully. At least he hoped he did. They hadn’t really done much talking after he’s realized he was allowed to kiss Cas all he wanted. That had actually kinda taken up a lot of time. 

Ash whooped, leaping excitedly to clap Benny on the shoulder. 

“Get off.” Benny drawled, shoving the shorter man away. Ash was unfazed, crowing at the ceiling. 

“I knew it, I knew it! Didn’t I say only a woman could twist Dean Winchester’s ear like that?” he laughed. 

Gabriel chuckled louder. 

“Hey, Gabe.” Dean said quickly, stepping between the mechanics and the baker. “Can we, uh, could we talk?” 

Gabe shrugged but the sly slant of his eyes said he knew exactly why Dean wanted to talk to him. He followed Dean into Bobby’s office without comment, snickering when Dean closed the door behind them. Dean turned to find the smaller Novak perched on the corner of Bobby’s desk. 

“Peace offering, Dean!” he said, lifting the bakery box. The scent of apples and cinnamon hit Dean’s nostrils and he groaned, reaching for the box without really giving his hands permission. He opened it up to find a beautifully latticed apple pie still steaming. He didn’t even bother trying to find a piece of cutlery, just shoved two fingers down under the crust and scooped out a mouthful. He groaned as he nearly burned his tongue on the gooey filling. 

“Jeez, Dean.” Gabe snarked, raising an eyebrow. “I can see Cas is in for some stellar foreplay.” 

Dean nearly swallowed a whole apple. He spluttered and choked, slamming a fist into his chest and glaring at Gabriel’s amused expression. 

“Christ, Gabe.” He wheezed when he could talk again. “He’s seventeen.”

“So were you, once.” Gabe reminded him with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows. “And if you think back I’m pretty sure you’ll remember being a horny little fuck. Not much has changed, hu?”

“Jesus. That’s your little brother!” Dean squawked. 

Gabe rolled his eyes. “Like you don’t know Sam’s masturbatory habits as well as he does.”

“Gabe!” Dean barked. 

“Well I suppose it’s my own fault.” Gabe sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told you to fix it and you did. I didn’t realize ‘fixing it’ entailed shoving your tongue down my baby brother’s throat but that’s why you do your due diligence, right, Deany? So mix-ups like this don’t happen.” 

Dean grimaced, closing the pie box and placing it on the desk. “Look, uh.” 

Gabe waved him off. “Relax, Dean. I’m all about making your own decisions and living your own life. I should get it on a t-shirt. I’m not gonna tell you to back off any more than I’m gonna tell Cas what a shit track record you’ve got.”

Dean frowned but it wasn’t like there was much he could say to that. He’d probably had one or two decent relationships in the years he’d know Gabe, but nothing long or lasting. And lately, well. Gabe was right. His track record sucked. 

“What I _will_ warn you against is making Cas your little secret. If you’re doing this you’re doing it. He’s not gonna understand you keeping him on the down-low just because you want to play the macho man a little longer.”

Dean pursed his lips. “I don’t… um.” Oh shit. If he and Cas were going to be a thing then he was going to have to tell people. Not that… well. Cas was great. Cas was better than Dean deserved. He wasn’t ashamed, or anything. It just hadn’t really occurred to him that if he and Cas were going to do this then he would kinda have to come out to everyone. Bobby, Ellen… Well, shit. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking that far yet, Gabe.” He said honestly. “But yeah. I wouldn’t do that to him. He’s…” Dean shrugged. “You said it already: he deserves better than that.” 

Gabe’s eyebrow twitched. “Look at you.” He said with a little grin. “You might just grow up one of these days, Deany-bear.” He approved. 

Dean snorted. “You first.”

 

****

 

“Castiel!” 

Castiel turned from his locker to find Amelia trotting towards him, her lovely hair twisted elegantly atop her head and a dark purple top making her pale skin shine. 

“Hello.” He said politely, trying to cram his math text back into his locker with limited success. 

Amelia reached out one slender hand and jammed the thick book in, slamming the door for him. “Can we talk?”

Castiel was surprised. He hadn’t spoken to her much since their not-quite-a-date incident, though it hadn’t been on purpose. They didn’t really have much it common, it turned out, and she spent most of her time with her friends in the drama club. 

“Of course.” He said, noting the tense set of her lips. “You seem troubled.”

Amelia took his arm, ushering him into an empty classroom and shutting the door behind them. When she turned her face was serious. 

“Is it true you’re dating Dean Winchester?” she demanded and Castiel blinked. Ah. Of course Raphael and his cronies would have spread the rumor of what they’d seen at Saturday’s game around. That thought hadn’t really cross Cas’s mind in his confusion. How was he supposed to answer? 

“Who told you that?” he asked, hoping he sounded more curious than defensive. 

“Pretty much everyone.” She said with a little smile. “They’re saying you were making out with him at Manhattan this weekend.”

Castiel sighed, one finger stroking his temple as he thought. Of course Dean’s not-so-private display had attracted the attention of more than just Finnerman and his friends. He should have realized. “Dean kissed me that day.” He confirmed, seeing little point in denying it. 

“Oh _Castiel!”_ To his great surprise Amelia threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him to her. “That’s so great! I mean, Dean Winchester is… whew.” She stepped back, wiping her brow comically. 

“He is very beautiful.” Castiel agreed with a blush. He really wasn’t prepared to talk about this. “But I don’t know if we are _dating_ , per se.” 

Amelia frowned. “You mean he hasn’t asked you out?”

Castiel sighed. How was he to explain this? “We have not really discussed our plans for…” he fumbled for an appropriate term. “This.” He finally settled on. “We have only just discovered how we feel about each other. I expect the rest will come in time.”

Amelia blushed, a stray lock of hair falling appealingly across her forehead. “Oh. Well, ok then. I didn’t mean to be nosey I just… If I had to get rejected I’m glad it was because you were hung up on someone as gorgeous as Dean Winchester instead.”

Castiel actually laughed. 

He was let out twenty minutes early for lunch and on his way he pulled out his phone, switching it on to find a text from Dean. 

 

**Dean: Gabe dropped by. He brought pie. I think that means he’s alright with this? - 10:45am**

 

Castiel smiled and typed out a response. 

 

**Castiel: That’s good. I was wondering what ‘this’ actually is. - 12:15pm**

 

He sat down at their usual table, 

 

**Dean: You getting anxious for a commitment already? - 12:17pm**

 

**Dean: That was a joke, Cas. - 12:19pm**

 

**Castiel: I’m sure it was very funny. I was trying to buy a juice from a faulty machine. It was quite frustrating. - 12:20pm**

 

**Castiel: I only ask because apparently your little display on Saturday has been noticed by most of the school and I’m not sure what to say when people ask me questions. - 12:20pm**

 

**Dean: Oh. - 12:21pm**

 

**Dean: Shit - 12:22pm**

 

**Castiel: Indeed. I don’t have any experience in this type of situation so I thought I might defer to your judgement. - 12:22pm**

 

**Dean: Jeez Cas. You text like you’re writing a novel. - 12:25pm**

 

**Castiel: I apologize. - 12:25pm**

 

**Dean: Nah. I like it. - 12:26pm**

 

**Dean: Just tell em whatever you want, Cas. - 12:27pm**

 

“Hey, Cas.” Cas looked up to find Sam dropping into the seat beside him, a timid smile on his face. 

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel greeted, frowning down at his phone as he unwrapped the sandwich he’d made for lunch. He was still eating Ellen’s hamburgers twice a week but he found that they tasted better if he had them every _other_ day. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, uncapping a tupperware that appeared to be filled with burn bits of leaf. “Kale chips.” He explained as Castiel wrinkled his nose at the stench. “They’re good.” Sam defended, popping one in his mouth. 

“I’ll take your word for it.” Cas allowed. 

“So what’s bothering you?” Sam repeated, munching another chip. 

“Dean’s just given me some rather unhelpful advice regarding the rumor currently spreading about our relationship.” Castiel informed him. 

 

**Castiel: That was rather unhelpful advice, Dean. - 12:28pm**

 

Sam laughed. “Yeah it’s kinda everywhere. That’s what happens when you decide to surprise-kiss someone in front of half the school, I guess.” 

“You’re not… upset by this, are you Sam?” Castiel ventured, gripping his phone tight enough that he felt the plastic creak. 

Sam smiled, shaking his head. “Nah. Surprised, sure. But I’m not mad.”

Castiel sighed. He’d been quite worried that Sam might have been unsettled discovering that his older brother was attracted to men. “I’m glad.”

“If anything,” Sam said, clapping Cas’s shoulder, “his taste seems to be improving. At least I can talk to you, unlike his usual… oh.” Sam blushed and Cas fought down a little surge of jealousy. He was well aware how Sam had intended to end that sentence. “Sorry.” Sam warbled. “I just meant I think you two will be good for each other.”

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel said, his smile returning. Before Dena could respond to his text with anything more helpful Castiel spotted Jo making her way across the cafeteria, Alfie close behind her. Cas switched his phone off again and tucked it away, smiling as his friends waved. 

“They’ve heard about it too, probably.” Sam warned in a quiet undertone. “You decided what you’re going to tell them?”

Castiel shrugged, deciding to take Dean at his word. “The truth.” 

Jo dropped her tray down with a grin, wiggling her hips as she settled into her seat. Cas watched Alfie’s eyes bulge a bit at the movement but as usual the weedy boy said nothing about it. 

“So!” Jo began, grinning from ear to ear. “I hear some big dumb ox put the moves on our little Castiel.” 

Cas sighed. “If you’re referring to the kiss at the lacrosse game on Saturday that was a joke meant to annoy Raphael, who was seated several rows in front of us.” 

Jo’s expression sank like a wet pinecone. “Oh.” She pouted. 

“If, however, you’re referring to the several other times he kissed me than yes, I suppose you could classify any one of those as ‘putting the moves on me’.” 

Jo whooped and Alfie stared, his fork halfway to his mouth and dripping soggy macaroni. “For real?” he breathed. 

Castiel flushed, glancing away from Alfie’s shocked expression. “I didn’t mean to make the knowledge public. It’s not something I particularly want to talk about, though I am definitely pleased.” 

Jo made a series of satisfied little squeaks, pinching Alfie’s arm triumphantly. “Told you!” she sang, pinching him harder. “I mean, Cas, I kinda thought maybe you had a little thing for him but I wasn’t sure. And he flirts with inanimate objects so-“

“Could we just keep in mind that this is my brother we’re talking about before this goes further?” Sam pleaded. 

“Oh, please.” Jo rolled her eyes. “Dean is a cocktease if I’ve ever seen one.” 

Sam inhaled a kale chip at precisely the same velocity Cas spit out his juice. 

“I’m happy for you, Cas.” Jo continued, undeterred. “It’s about time Dean had someone decent in his life and you’re about as decent as they come. Just keep calling him on his shit and you two will be golden.” 

Castiel warmed under her praise, affection shining in his eyes. “Thank you, Jo.” 

 

****

 

He hadn’t really expected to make it through a whole day without hearing Raphael’s opinion on Dean’s little display but he found he was still fuming when he arrived at Singer Auto half an hour later. He threw his bag down beneath the rack of jumpsuits, his head throbbing from the force with which he’d been grinding his teeth. 

“The little _worm_.” He hissed to himself as he stripped off his jacket. 

“What’s that, boy?” Bobby asked, bouncing in behind him. He was swathed in a ragged flannel hunting jacket, his beard sprinkled with snow. 

“I’m sorry, Bobby.” Castiel sighed, rubbing his face. “I hadn’t realized you were behind me.” He’d gotten quite wet on the walk over here, the snow melting in his hair and dribbling unpleasantly down the back of his collar. It hadn’t really helped his general mood much. “Only I had to listen to Raphael Finnerman’s opinion on homosexuality on my way out of school and I find myself uniquely nauseated by it.” 

“Oh.” Bobby nodded, hanging up his coat and stomping the slush off his feet. “That kid is a pro at ruining other people’s days.” 

“Definitely.” Castiel agreed, shoving his gloves viciously into his pocket. 

“Well get cracking on that inventory and you’ll forget all about it.”

“Yes, sir.” Castiel replied immediately.

“Dean!” 

Castiel turned to find Dean striding across the garage with a massive grin on his face. He stopped a couple feet away, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. 

“Hey, Cas.” He beamed and Cas beamed back. Raphael’s hateful words were forgotten, replaced by a warm glow of affection. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Who pried the stick out of your ass, Dean?” Bobby asked gruffly. Dean blinked, seeming to notice the old mechanic for the first time. 

“Oh.” He stumbled, waving towards Bobby’s office. “Yeah, uh I brought you lunch to apologize for yesterday. For being such a bitch.”

“Hmm.” Bobby grunted. “You figure your crap out then?”

Dean glanced back at Cas, his smile widening. “Yep. I, uh, grew a pair like you said and I think it worked out alright.” 

Castiel could barely contain a snigger. “Splendidly.” He agreed, trying to sound calm. 

“What the hell are you two girls giggling about?” demanded Bobby, looking back and forth between the pair of them with a raised eyebrow. 

“He’s been weird as hell all day.” Ash called. 

“He’s got himself ‘someone’, apparently.” Benny added, tilting his head subtly at Cas. Cas blushed. 

Dean looked around at the three of them, something fast happening behind his eyes as he did. He set his mouth, obviously coming to some kind of decision. 

“Hey, Cas?” he said, turning to face Castiel fully. He pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin, ready for war again. 

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel had a feeling he knew what was coming and hoped he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. 

“You want to catch a movie some time?” asked Dean in a clear and ringing voice. “With me? Like a date?” 

Castiel was fairly sure that if he smiled any wider his face would split. “I would like that very much, Dean.” He said. 

Dean grinned. “Can I?” 

Castiel nodded, watching Dean as he leaned in for a quick kiss. He thought he might burst with pride when Dean turned to stare down the three other men in the garage, placing his body almost unconsciously between them and Cas. 

“We getting back to work, or what?” he challenged, his fists tight by his sides. There was a long moment of silence before Ash leaned his head back and groaned. 

“Shiiiiiiit.” He wailed. 

“That’s fifty bucks you owe me, brother.” Benny drawled through an easy smile. “You paying in cash or in beer?” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is life but I'd particularly like to know how people feel about Gabriel's reaction to this whole thing. He really is a ton of fun to write.  
> Cas’s dreams in this chapter were a really brief little tidbit for myself. His dream of sitting with Gabriel was just a memory from the childhood I’ve established for him in this fic. His dream with Sam is a little scene I’ve written for another, more canon-compliant fic that I might be posting on this site in the near future. I’ll let you guys know when that goes up. The dream with Dean and the river is a nod to one of the first fanfics I ever read. It’s called “All Things Shining” by Standbyme and Askance and is beautifully written. It’s very much a folk tale and is, I’m sure, wedged as firmly in many people’s memories as it is in mine. I love it because it gives the boys a bit of peace in a beautiful landscape full of mythical figures. Anyone who hasn’t read it, find it now and do so. Right now. Go.


	25. The Dust Settles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo… Yeah. Sorry for my very long and very boring absence, but I have been having real trouble with this chapter. I wrote at least four full versions of it and deleted them all before coming up with this. It’s not even close to my favorite but I think to move forward it had to go up. I’ll try to post again before New Year but in case I don’t a very happy holiday season to everyone and I’ll see you all in January!!   
> The best Christmas gift I could ask for would be feedback!

Castiel stared at the army green paint flaking off the far wall of Ellen Harvelle’s basement. The others were passing a history text book back and forth, comparing notes and arguing about interpretations of the assigned reading and guzzling coffee like it was going out of style. Castiel, nestled in his armchair with a mug of tea, barely heard them. He was too busy thinking how miraculously the world had changed around him to take notice.

Last November he had been seated in a stiff-backed mahogany chair at his father’s dining table, his eyes on his plate as he listened to the crushing silence that was broken only by the sharp squeal of silverware on plates. His white shirt and black trousers had been pressed and neat, his shoes polished and shining. His expression had been impassive and his posture impeccable. Now, a year later, he slouched in a ragged armchair that appeared to have been constructed primarily of carpet in a rumpled t-shirt with a large photo of a movie villain on it - Boba Something, he was fairly certain - a soft, easy smile folding his face.

Miraculous.

It was miraculous to him that this hideous, marvellously comfortable chair had become unofficially his, a reserved space at the Harvelle house just for him. He could no longer remember how many times he’d fallen asleep curled up here watching a movie, or watched the others from this comfortable vantage point as they laughed and talked. His watching never seemed to bother them, never disrupted the flow of conversation or made anyone feel out of place. It was unbelievable that pizza and diet soda could taste better than baked swordfish because of the company he shared it with. It was astounding that these people, no more than strangers only a few months ago, were now closer to him than most of his family ever had been.

And most the most miraculous of all these tiny miracles was that he understood. For once in his life Castiel grasped what it was that made other people shine with life. He could comprehend exactly how different his world was now. He could see everything in it that wouldn’t have been possible a year ago, everything he hadn’t known he was missing out on.

He had thought he loved his father, thought he loved Michael and Lucifer and Anna. And he did, in a stale, grey way. He’d always known it was not the same technicolor ferocity of Gabriel’s love, but it was love all the same. They were his family and he loved them. But now he knew just how flat and obligatory those feelings had been. That love was nothing like the vibrant green of Sam’s affection. It was nothing next to the pale blush of Alfie’s respect or the steely blue of Jo’s protective regard.

It faded to insignificance in the wild ringing exuberance of his feelings for Dean.

He had thought he knew happiness. Receiving excellent report cards, winning tournaments, helping out at church functions, those things had all made him happy a lifetime ago. Happiness had been a little curl of contentment, always the same, never varying. A job well done. A medal earned. A task complete. Now he knew the truth. No fencing win had ever made him half so happy as making Sam laugh. He had never felt as proud of any test score as he was of the hug he’d gotten from Jo after he’d helped her pass her chemistry exam by finally explaining covalent bonds in a way that made sense to her. Helping out at church had never made him feel as fulfilled as helping out in Gabriel’s kitchen. Happiness was furious and giddy. It could grab hold of him with savage fury or brush past him soft as a whisper. It was senseless and glorious and sometimes it made him feel like he might come apart at the seams.

Dean’s hand on his cheek had redefined the word entirely.

It had redefined _him_. He was new here. He was entirely new. Perhaps it wasn’t the world that had changed, only his role in it. Everything around him had swirled and collided and been reborn as it was caught up in the gravity of who he was becoming. And that was a miracle too.

He remembered, years and years before, at a church in a town whose name he couldn’t remember, standing and speaking to the congregation with other children. He had memorised a bit of scripture, watched their eyes as he said the words. Afterwards a woman with deep lines carved in her face had come to tell him how well he’d done, that he was a little angel. It was a compliment he’d received more than once, through all his different schools and churches and lives. It was one that made his father’s chin tilt with pride. In Connecticut he had been what he was supposed to be, what his family expected. What his world expected. He had been dutiful and kind, giving and responsible. But that was all he’d been. An angel. He’d never been a friend. He’d never been a true brother. He’d never loved someone or really laughed with someone - not since Gabriel had left. And yet here, in Lawrence, he was all those things and more. Of course he was still a target, still different. He was still awkward and strange and serious and alien. But he was loved. He was wanted. He was free. Here he was alive in a way angels would never be.

In Lawrence, Kansas, Castiel was human.

“Cas?”

Castiel startled, blinked at Sam where he sat on the floor. His long legs were curled underneath him in an extraordinarily uncomfortable-looking fashion and his hair stuck up at odd angles from the repeated push of his fingers. He had borrowed Jo’s shower after his practice and the ends of his hair were still glistening wetly. 

“Yes, Sam?” he asked, the name tasting bright on his tongue.

“Are you ok, man?” Sam’s mobile eyebrows squished together so eloquently that Castiel could almost see the question written there.

“I’m very happy, Sam.” Castiel smiled. And that was the miraculous truth.

 

* * * *

 

Dean was pretty sure he was gonna pull something if someone didn’t say something soon.

He’d expected questions, a funny look at least after he’d basically come out in front of the whole damn workforce of Singer Auto. All he’d gotten was a smug smile from Benny and a somewhat disgruntled congratulations from Ash as he handed over fifty bucks. Bobby hadn’t even blinked. And after that it was like nothing had changed. They worked, they joked around, they talked about Benny’s plans to take his new girlfriend away somewhere.

Just as he was starting to think maybe nothing had happened at all, that he’d imagined the whole thing, Dean felt a gentle brush of fingers on the back of his elbow. He was leaning deep into the engine of a Volkswagen at the time and he nearly cracked his head on the hood whipping around so fast.

Cas stood there with wide eyes and a nervous smile, his body bizarrely still. “I’m leaving.”

“Oh.” Dean straightened, his hands suddenly feeling way too big for his stupid arms. “Yeah, uh, you’re gonna be hanging with Sam and them?”

Cas nodded, his eyes stuck to Dean’s face with unnerving focus. “We will be studying for midterms. I’m afraid Jo is starting to feel the pressure.”

Dean grinned, knowing all-too-well the horror of a stressed-out Harvelle. “Right. Good luck with that. I’ll uh, I’ll see you later?”

The smile that filled Cas’s face made Dean’s insides go all hot and wiggly. “I will see you later, Dean.” He said, as if it were the something amazing.

He turned to walk away and before he could think Dean had grabbed his hand. Cas turned, his expression caught between worried and hopeful. Dean wanted to kiss him. Badly. The trouble was he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to stop. He just stood there like an idiot, staring at those lips. He saw the exact moment Cas figured out what he was thinking, another wide smile flashing white teeth at Dean. Dean could practically feel their slick, sharp edge against his tongue. Jesus.

Cas only squeezed his hand and walked away. It was probably the better option, Dean had to admit. He doubted the weird silence his coworkers had decided to employ would stand up to Dean shoving Cas up against the door of a car and kissing him silly. He watched Cas swing his coat around his shoulders and returned the tiny wave Cas threw his way.

And still, no one said a thing.

As the day wore on Bobby shot the shit with a few regulars, Ash helped a metalhead install an outrageously expensive new stereo system in his cheap-ass car, and Benny teamed up with Dean on an emergency repair for a stressed-out single mother with her three kids in tow. They worked, they talked, they called it a day. As they tidied their tools away Benny and Ash argued about which bar they should head to the next night, finally deciding to leave it to Dean since it was his idea to have a guys night out. Then they clapped him on the back and walked out to the parking lot with him.

Dean was practically vibrating as he slid baby’s key into the driver-side door. This had to be it. They had to say _something._

Stepping behind the open door Dean leaned one arm on the roof of the car. Benny sauntered over, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Got that damn wreck of Anne Harland’s coming in again tomorrow.” He said, leaning back against Dean’s hood. “Wanna double-team that thing and see if we can’t keep it running for her another few months?”

Dean ground his teeth, wishing they’d just get to it already. “Sure.” He said. As Benny’s eyes slid sideways, raking up from Dean’s boots to the top of his head, Dean felt muscles he hadn’t even known he had snap taught.

Here it came.

“So you settled on a bar for tomorrow night?” Benny asked.

Dean’s head drooped against his arm on the door. “Come on, man.” He groaned, rubbing his thumb over the bridge of his nose. “Can we just…?”

Benny chuckled and slapped Dean’s shoulder with a broad hand. “About time you and Cas worked things out, brother.” He laughed, taking pity on Dean. “Don’t bother me in the slightest, if that’s what’s got you jumping at every damn breath.”

Dean’s head snapped up and he squinted hard at Benny. “Really?”

“Really.” Benny nodded, not a whisper of a lie passing over his scruffy face.

Dean relaxed slightly. “You really put money down on me being queer?” he asked, unsure why that thought rankled. He _was_ queer. Clearly. As he’d demonstrated by asking his boyfriend - (boyfriend? Really?) - on a date right in front of everyone. And then kissing him. In front of everyone. Again.

Benny chuckled. “I seen men struck dumb by a pretty face more’n once in my time and boy,” Benny shook his head, “you had it bad before that kid even set foot in the shop.”

“Yeah well. He _is_ damn pretty.” Dean grumbled.

“Sure is.” Benny laughed easily. 

“Despite how much I miss my fifty samolians,” Ash chimed in, stuffing a ratty cap on over his mullet as he trotted over to them, “I gotta admit the sight of you all twitter-pated over the toothpick really warms the cockles of my heart, there, Dean-machine.”

“So… you guys aren’t,” Dean cast around for the right word, “disappointed?” he settled on finally. It was a cringe-worthy choice but it was the best he could come up with.

“That’s you care less about the suit than the person wearin’ it?” Benny scoffed. “Nah. Always knew you had a heart o’ gold, brother.” He patted Dean’s shoulder again and shoved off Baby’s hood.

“I’m just glad to see you got some pep back in your step, Winchester.” Ash called, crawling into his massive pickup. It was parked the usual three spots from Dean’s car, since Dean had threatened to de-ball Ash with a spork if that rolling scrap-heap ever even _thought_ about scratching his baby. “You been a real drag lately.” He slammed his door and with a wave peeled out.

Dean and Benny watched him rumble away.

“What’s botherin’ you _now?_ ” Benny sighed, turning to face Dean fully.

“Dunno.” Dean admitted, feeling like he was eight frigging years old again. Everything had gone just fine but he was still all cranky for no damn reason. “I guess I was just expecting… shock? I didn’t really think any of you would kick up too much a fuss about it but…” he shrugged, scowling. “No one even seemed surprised to find out I like dudes too.”

Benny was silent a moment. Then, as Dean stared morosely down at his boots scuffing against the pavement he began to chuckle. Then to laugh.

“What is so damn funny?” Dean demanded.

“I got an ex that burned my shed to the ground, stole all my underwear, and mailed me a lock of her dead grandmother’s hair. And all of that a ways _before_ I dumped her. And you want me to get all fired up about two boys in love?”

Dean couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face. He wasn’t sure he’d say he and Cas were in _love_ , but he guessed Benny had a point.

“Takes more than that to rattle me, Dean. Shit.”

 

* * * *

 

Cas excused himself to the bathroom when Jo began yelling and throwing papers. Poor Alfie was trying to calm her down and Sam didn’t even blink as a stack of notecards was flung over his head. Castiel slipped upstairs to the washroom, Jo’s shrill voice following him up.

“When am I _ever_ going to need to know this? No, Alfie! In _real life_ , when will I _ever_ need this crap?”

He wondered how Dean was faring at work. It was clear that announcing their relationship had been somewhat of a milestone for him. Cas knew how much he cared for Bobby, Benny, and Ash, how much their opinions mattered to him. While he may pretend to be impervious to the opinions of others, challenging them with every line of his body to object, Dean had clearly craved their approval. Castiel had seen the smiles each of them had thrown his way when he wasn’t looking, so he wasn’t too worried, but it couldn’t have been easy for Dean.

It was a very different response than Castiel had gotten from his own family, and it made Cas’s heart swell to see it.

As he washed his hands he was hyper-aware of the weight in his pocket. His cell phone, with Lucifer’s number programmed in.He hadn’t been brave enough to call yet but he’d sent a few texts, just to check on their father’s progress. Lucifer had always responded within minutes, even if his responses had been curt. Castiel had no doubt that if he chose to call Lucifer would answer but something had been holding him back. Perhaps it was time he “manned up”, as his friends would put it.

Before he could rethink it he headed out onto the porch in his stocking feet, grabbing his coat from the hook by the door as he went. The snow had died off towards sundown, leaving a sharp dusty scent in the air. He settled against the wall, making sure to keep his socks well away from the feathered line of snow drifting in from the steps. He scrolled through his contacts to Lucifer, smiling as he noticed a little devil icon beside his brother’s name. Cas guessed Gabriel must have added that when he’d programmed his own number in. With a smile on his face he hit “send”, pressing it to his ear with white knuckles.

It rang twice, Castiel’s throat tightening with each trill. Halfway through the third a swift click stole what breath was left in Cas’s lungs.

“Castiel.” Lucifer’s cool, slow voice couldn’t completely hide the spark of surprise as he answered.

“Hello, Lucifer.” He said, his voice deeper than usual. He had no idea what to say, so he sat silently staring out at Jo’s quiet street and listening to Lucifer’s breathing.

“Is something wrong?” Lucifer asked after a moment.

“No!” Cas croaked, “No, no. I just…” Why had he chosen this moment to finally make this call? “I had a very good day.”

A beat of silence was broken by Lucifer’s soft, familiar chuckle. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“How is Father?” Cas asked, a tiny flutter in his chest.

“About the same. I told you he’d returned home last time you texted, and Michael has gone home to Raina and the girls. Some spasticity in the left arm but nothing that’s impairing his movement as yet. He has a physical therapist now who visits every other day.”

Castiel’s mouth was dry. “Will he be able to return to work?” he croaked.

“Father’s doctors are still advising him to take time for his recovery but you can guess how well he’s listening to them.” Lucifer’s eye-roll was audible.

Cas sighed, remembering the many nights he’d gone to bed before his father had even made it home. Sundays were often the only day of the week Eli Novak had joined them for dinner. “Not very well, I’m assuming.” He guessed.

“No.” Lucifer confirmed, sounding both exasperated and fond. “Still, he seems to be on the mend.”

“That’s good.” Castiel sighed. The tiny cold spot in his chest that had lingered since Lucifer had first told him of the stroke warming just a touch.

“So.” Lucifer said, and Cas heard the thump of his heels hitting the desk. “What made today so good?”

Castiel leaned back against the top step, tipping his chin up as he tried to think how to put it all into words. “I think I am very lucky to have ended up here.” He said. Lucifer was quiet for a moment and Castiel pushed on, not wanting to stir the guilt he knew Lucifer harbored over the night he’d left. “Are you having Thanksgiving with Father? Is Michael’s family coming? How are the girls?” He tried not to think how much Judith and Sarah must have grown since he’d last seen them.

“They’re good. Judith has joined the church choir. She’s terrible, of course,” Cas smiled indulgently, remembering her strident little voice, “but she seems to enjoy it. But, erm, no,” it was Lucifer’s turn to clear his throat. “Actually I’ll be travelling over the holiday.”

“Oh.” Cas frowned. “For work?”

“Yes.”

“That’s too bad. Mrs. Miggins always did Thanksgiving beautifully.” He smiled, thinking of his father’s chubby housekeeper bustling around the kitchen with a stern frown on her red face. So many holidays under the ever-present threat of her merciless spatula had given Castiel a healthy respect for the stinging potential of rubber.

“She still does.” Lucifer agreed, his voice oddly tight. “I, erm,” he cleared his throat again, “I will actually be back in Kansas City. The company I was in talks with when I was there before is interested in selling.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked, his mouth moving faster than his brain. “Come to Lawrence!”

Lucifer was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke Castiel could hear the smile in his voice. “I think perhaps you should speak to Gabriel before you extend that particular invitation.”

Castiel snorted, startled to hear such a Sam-like sound from himself. “And give him the chance to pretend he doesn’t want to see you? I don’t think so. Please come? It would be such a shame for you to be so close and spend the holiday alone.”

A touch of warmth entered his brothers voice. “Thank you, Castiel. If it won’t put Gabriel out, I would be glad to come.”

“Good!”

“I have a meeting coming up, Castiel.” Lucifer sounded genuinely sorry to cut their conversation short.

“That’s alright.” Cas assured him. “I’ll let Gabriel know you’re coming and text you the details.”

Lucifer chuckled. “It was good to hear from you, Castiel.” He agreed.

“I’ll talk to you again soon?” Cas asked hopefully.

“Good.”

Castiel hit the red “end” button, pressing the edge of the phone to his smile. Lucifer. Coming for Thanksgiving. Gabriel would - what was that phrase Ash like so much? - shit a brick?

 

* * * *

 

As Alfie began to flag and Jo collapsed in a disgruntled heap against the arm of the couch, Castiel decided it was time for a break. Sam, buried nose-first in a supplemental history text was beginning to look a little ragged around the edges, too, but showed no signs of slowing down. He had been working even harder than usual in the run-up to midterms, and the past few days Cas had noticed him looking more and more haggard.

“Sam?” Castiel said, gently touching his shoulder. Sam looked up, blinking red-rimmed eyes at him in surprise.

“Hm?” he asked, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I think it’s time we all had a break. Maybe some dinner.” Cas suggested gently, nodding to their friends. Jo had thrown her head on Alfie’s lap as he drowsed, his fingers slowly rubbing over his eyebrows to ward off a headache.

“Yes, _please!”_ Jo whined, kicking her text book off the end of the couch. It hit the floor with an indignant thump and Jo lifted her head to stick her tongue out at it.

Sam frowned, glancing at the clock. He opened his mouth to argue but Cas shook his head. “Only a short one.” He promised. “It doesn’t do us any good to run ourselves into the ground with this.”

After only a moment Sam sighed and carefully placed a post-it at the top of his current page. “Alright. I guess so.”

Castiel suppressed a sigh of relief. He still hadn’t asked Sam about his trouble the year before, but he was sure it had stemmed at least in part from Sam pushing himself too hard. He was glad he could be here to remind him to take care of himself when the stress started to pile up.

They rose together, waving Jo and Alfie back down as they started to stir. “We’ll take care of it.” Castiel assured them, hiding a grin when Alfie looked down to realize he had a lap full of Jo. His eyes widened and Castiel could actually hear his throat close up. Cas followed Sam upstairs without another word.

In Ellen’s tidy kitchen Sam cracked the fridge, rummaging around for something to fuel the last legs of their study session. “Am I the only one freaking out?” he sighed, coming up with a few tomatoes and a block of mostly-edible looking cheese. Cas cleared a space on the counter and passed him a chopping board as Sam drew a knife from the block.

“I’m relatively certain of my own performance.” Castiel shrugged, “Even if I did loose all of my Calculus notes when I dropped my bag to escape Raphael.”

Sam threw him a sympathetic look as he sliced the tomatoes. Castiel pulled a bag of bread from the box and began smearing pieces with butter for the grilled cheese.

“I’m also sure you will do very well, though I know you will not be satisfied with anything less than top grades.”

Sam nodded, not bothering to deny it. “I can do it. If I get straight A’s on midterms I can get back up above a 3.7 GPA. That’s what most of my schools are gonna want.”

It was Castiel’s turn to sigh. He hadn’t really considered college, not since leaving home. Everything had been so uncertain in those first months, and now he had already missed most of the application deadlines. He would have to think about what that meant for him very soon.

“I am afraid that Alfie will let his fear get the better of him.” Cas pushed on, ignoring the subject of his own future for now. “He knows more material than he thinks he does, but he tends to panic when all he needs to do is think about the question for a moment.”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, spreading cheese and tomatoes over the bagel halves. “He usually gets it together on test day, though. He’ll be alright. And if Jo can just calm the hell down and actually read the question instead of trying to light it on fire with her eye-lazers she’ll be fine, too.”

“Hello?”

Cas and Sam turned toward the front hall to find Dean peering around the door, shaking snow out of the back of his collar.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s smile was so wide it nearly hurt.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked. Cas was surprised to hear anger in his voice. He turned to find Sam’s whole body had changed. He was suddenly taller, broader, more solid as he faced his brother. His mouth was a stiff line and his expressive eyebrows were drawn together in a stern frown.

Dean’s eyes widened slightly but he hunched his shoulders. “I, uh. I need to talk to Cas.” Cas saw the anger clear from Sam’s face almost instantly. “Cas?”

“Of course, Dean” Cas agreed, his voice stuck in the back of his throat. He glanced at Sam, who cracked a tired smile and nodded him along.

Dean cast him a lopsided smile and jerked his head towards the sitting room, a smaller, more formal version of the comfortable basement where Cas had spent most of his time at the Harvelle’s. He studied Dean’s back as he led the way, noting the tense set of his shoulders, his ears pulled tight against his skull. Something was wrong. When Dean turned to face him Cas didn’t even think about stepping up close, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he stared into his face.

“Are you alright?” he demanded.

Dean blinked at him, a full smile relaxing his face. “Yeah.” He nodded, gripping Cas’s wrist with calloused fingers. “Yeah, I’m alright, Cas.” His thumb glided warm over Cas’s pulse and suddenly Castiel realized just exactly how close they were standing. His hips were only an inch from Dean’s, their chests nearly touching. He could feel the heat of Dean’s breath on his cheek.

He flushed, glancing down at his feet as he stepped back a bit. To his surprise Dean stepped right along with him, pressing up against him as he dragged Cas back by the wrist.

“I did it again.” He said, his voice low and rough.

“Did what?” Cas gulped, his head spinning with the sweat-and-motor-oil scent of Dean.

“I kissed you in front of a bunch of people just to prove a point.”

Castiel grinned. “You had permission, that time.”

Dean grinned back, his dimples flashing. “Yeah. Still, though, that’s a bad habit. Gonna have to break that one.”

“Or you could just apologize again. I rather liked your methods.” There it was again, that playful edge Castiel hadn’t known he possessed until Dean showed it to him.

Dean’s smile took on a predatory edge as he leaned closer, his breath ghosting along Castiel’s lips. Cas felt his skin straining closer.

“You forgive me?” he murmured. Castiel didn’t bother to answer before smashing their lips together. Dean let out a surprised _whompf!_ and stumbled back, a sudden armful of Castiel almost tipping him over Ellen’s ratty footstool. Cas couldn’t quite work out where to put his hands, ending up with one buried in Dean’s short hair and another clutching greedily at his coat, but he didn’t really care. Dean’s mouth was hot and soft and smiling and it was all he could focus on.

After a frantic minute he broke free for air, dizzy elation making his vision swim.

Dean chuckled, licking his lips with a mesmerizingly pink tongue. “I’ll take that as an apology accepted, then?” he teased.

“Yes, Dean. Apology accepted.” Panted Cas, leaning into another kiss.


	26. Back in Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, under 2 mins to midnight on the east coast and I'm drinking champagne on the couch with my cat writing fanfic. Looks like 2016 is gonna be pretty ok. See you guys in 2016!!

Kissing Dean was not what he’d imagined. He’d imagined a torrent, a wave of emotion and physicality so overwhelming and brilliant that it blocked out everything else in the world. What it actually was was an acute awareness of his own body, a hyper-visualization of everything around him. He could have said where every scrap of paper and speck of dust in the room sat, the exact distance between the armchair and the sofa. He’d never felt his feet so clearly in his life and suddenly they seemed huge and out of place. His hands were restless and his ribs ached with the dual desire to run as fast as he could and press closer still to the warmth of Dean’s body. He thought about every single movement of his mouth, the slight touch of his tongue to Dean’s lower lip and the sigh it elicited. That sigh did not block out the neighborhood sounds outside the window, Dean’s scent did not eclipse that of frying bread from the kitchen. Rather his lips against Dean’s sharpened all of that, brought it directly to the front of Castiel’s mind as he desperately tried to catalogue every nanosecond of this experience and store it away for later.

As it turned out, kissing Dean was much better than he’d imagined.

“Dean.”Cas panted, his eyelashes fluttering. He had lost track of how long it had been since Dean had arrived but he could smell grilled cheese burning. Difficult as it was he pulled his face from Dean’s, letting out a surprised little huff when Dean dropped his mouth to Cas’s neck. His touch was sweet as he dragged his lips along the underside of Cas’s jaw and his hand slipping up under the back of Cas’s t-shirt was maddeningly distracting. That one point of contact kept the world in bright focus.

“Dean,” Cas repeated, gripping his shoulder tight, “Dean, why did you need to speak to me?” He was inordinately proud of himself for constructing a complete sentence _._

Dean hummed against Cas’s skin, sending a wave of terribly interesting vibrations through his neck. “Dean?” his voice had darkened significantly and he could hear it bouncing off the corners of the room. “You were upset…”

Dean paused, a heavier sigh spraying warm air down Cas’s collar. Bizarrely, it made him shiver.

“Dean?”

Dean drew back, his fingers splaying strong against Cas’s spine. “It was nothing, Cas.” He murmured, raising one hand to cup Castiel’s cheek. For a moment Cas forgot his concern, struck nearly dumb by yet another novel sensation. Had anyone ever touched him this way? No but he liked it very much. He nuzzled deeper into Dean’s palm, smelling soap and oil. Dean smiled affectionately and stroked his fingers over Cas’s ear. “Just had a shitty day, Cas.”

“Why?” Cas pushed, a little spike of worry pushing through the want. Had something happened once he’d left? Had Benny or Ash said something to him?

Dean shook his head. “Nothing.” He smiled. “I was waiting for a non-existent other shoe to drop and I thought…” he shrugged. “I dunno. Thought I wanted to see you.”

A strange swell of pride nearly choked Castiel even as Dean pulled the sour face he made when Sam began what Dean deemed a “chick-flick moment”. Dean wanted to see him, to be near him as he let go of his fear. Cas smiled, pressing another kiss to the swell of Dean’s thumb. “Are you feeling calmer now?” he asked.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, Cas. Want to see if we can work on that a bit more?”

Cas grinned but dodged away from Dean’s searching mouth, disentangling his feet - which he was glad to feel had reverted to their normal size and agility - and stepping back. “I think Sam would appreciate some help with the food, Dean. Dinner was my idea.” That reminded him… “Oh. Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean hummed, his eyes still firmly fixed on Cas’s mouth.

Cas pushed the urge to leap on him again out of his mind. “Based on your reaction last time you met him I think it would be wise to inform you that I’ve invited Lucifer to Thanksgiving. He will be in town anyway.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he said. Cas nodded and Dean tipped his head from side to side as if weighing the pros and cons. “You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked carefully. It was clear he didn’t.

Castiel sighed, his gaze drifting away over Dean’s shoulder. Was he? “Not really.” He answered honestly, spreading his hands. “But he’s my brother. If he’s sincere in his wish to get to know the ‘new me’,” Cas didn’t miss Dean’s half-smile as he twitched his fingers around the quote, “then this would be an excellent first step.”

“Oh.” Dean’s face said he didn’t think this plan was very smart, but he just bumped his fist against Cas’s arm. “Well thanks for letting me in on the plan. Hope it works out how you want it to.”

Cas couldn’t resist giving Dean one more kiss for that. Dean’s arms wrapped around him automatically and by the time either of them thought to break for air Sam was calling everyone in for dinner.

 

* * * *

 

“You can’t just invite the devil to my _house!_ ” Gabriel raved, throwing his hands over his head. Castiel struggled not to smile. In the ten minutes since he’d told his brother about inviting Lucifer to Thanksgiving Gabriel hadn’t once paused for breath once. He marched around the bakery, sweeping up dirty dishes and flinging out pastries with ferocious snaps of his flailing arms. The usual patrons at Reynard’s were so used to Gabe’s outbursts and eccentricities that they had barely noticed the disruption. He moved among them, ranting objections at the top of his lungs as they calmly continued their own conversations. Alfie, cringing beside Cas in one of Reynard's comfy armchairs, leaned over as Gabriel punched his way through the kitchen door.

"He's pretty pissed, hu?" He whispered in a tremulous voice.

Cas shook his head. "No. He only feels the need to appear that way."

"Hu?"

Cas smiled. "When Gabriel is angry he becomes very quiet. So long as he's making a scene you know he's alright." There was a notable exception to that rule lingering in his memory, but Castiel was confident that his brother's protests today were all for show. Alfie looked doubtful but Castiel only nodded. A loud crash from the kitchen signalled that Gabriel's hissy fit was far from over.

“What am I even supposed to cook for Lucifer?” Gabe continued, pushing back through the door with a massive recipe book in hand. “Infant Flambé? Roast him up a freshly caught virgin? What?” he slammed the book down on Castiel’s table, loose pages flying every which way. “You find something in here that I’m supposed to whip up for Satan’s dinner that doesn’t require a blood sacrifice. I _dare_ you!”

Castiel fixed his big brother with an irritated glare. “Will you stop pretending you aren’t pleased?”

“ _PLEASED?”_ Gabriel protested shrilly. “I’m _pleased_ that my little brother - who I took in from the cold, remember! - repays me by inviting my arch nemesis to Thanksgiving dinner without even _asking_ me?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Firstly, Lucifer isn’t your arch nemesis. If anyone of our siblings is your nemesis it’s Michael.”

Gabriel snorted but didn’t disagree.

“And secondly, yes. You should be pleased. Now you will get to see him - as we both know you want to - but you won’t have to be the one to extend the invitation.” Gabe narrowed his eyes and Cas knew he’d hit the nail bang on the head. “This way you can pretend that it was all my idea and that it’s really an enormous burden to you and you only agreed to it because you didn’t want to break your dear little brother’s heart on his first Thanksgiving away from home. Unless of course,” Castiel said, breaking out Sam’s patented puppy eyes, “you _do_ want to break your dear little brother’s heart on his first Thanksgiving away from home.”

Gabriel grumbled, his mouth pinching as he tried not to laugh. “I never should have let you hang out with those damned Winchesters. They’re bad influences.”

Castiel opened the cook book in search of something interesting. “I seem to recall you telling me I needed more bad influences in my life.” He sniffed.

“Yeah, well I’ve changed my mind.”

“Too late for that, I’m afraid.” Cas informed him, drawing out a recipe for a root vegetable tart. “I think Lucifer would enjoy this very much and it’s in keeping with the holiday spirit.” He said, handing it over.

Gabe snatched it from his hand, a grin spreading. “You are a pain in my ass, Cas.” He said, and ruffled Cas’s hair.

“What’s he done now?” They looked up to find Jo dropping her book bag in an empty chair. Alfie immediately popped up and pulled the chair beside him out for her. She raised an eyebrow at him as she sank down, a tiny smile twitching her lips.

“There’ll be one more plate at Thanksgiving this year.” Gabe informed her with a long-suffering expression.

“Oh yeah, who?” she snagged Alfie’s coffee cup and took a long drink. Alfie didn’t protest.

“Lucifer will be in Kansas City and I felt it was a waste for him to spend the holiday alone when he is so nearby.” Cas told her.

Jo blinked, barely noticing when Alfie snatched his cup back. “That’s uhh, wow.”

“Yeah. Wow is right.” Gabriel snarked. “Can you imagine Bobby Singer breaking Thanksgiving bread with Satan?”

“Bobby will be there?” Cas blinked. He hadn’t realized anyone but he and Gabriel would be involved.

“Oh, yes.” Gabriel nodded, looking smug. “What you didn’t realize, _dear_ little brother, is that for the past five or six years I’ve been having an _extended_ family Thanksgiving. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dipshit are _all_ invited. It’ll be more awkward than the original Thanksgiving and just as likely to end in bloodshed.”

“Oh.” Cas gulped. Perhaps he had overstepped after all.

“We usually have it at ours and Gabe does most of the cooking.” Jo explained gently.

“Oh.” Cas repeated, feeling stupid.

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Gabe snapped nastily.

“Back off, Gabe.” Jo sighed. “I don’t care if your big brother decides to crash, and I’m sure my mom won’t either.”

“Still,” Cas said, “I should ask her. I didn’t realize it would be so large a gathering. Alfie, are you going to be there?”

Alfie shook his head. “My mom and I go up to my uncle Andy’s every year. He lives in Montana.”

“I see.” Well there was at least one person he hadn’t annoyed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll text my mom and tell her to pull up an extra chair.” Jo offered, pulling out her phone. Before Cas could protest she’d shot out a message and within a minute her phone buzzed with a reply.

Jo grinned, turning her phone to show Gabriel who scowled.

“What’s it say?” Alfie asked, craning his neck to see.

“‘ _Tell Gabriel tough nuggets.’”_ Read Gabe in a sour voice. “‘ _If Cas wants their brother there he’s more than welcome’._ ”

“I will have to thank her.” Cas murmured, smiling.

“Yeah, yeah.” Gabe grumbled. “Get working, you three. And Cas, Lucy is taking _your_ room.”

As it turned out, Lucifer booked a hotel room.

He texted Cas Wednesday afternoon to let him know that he would be done with his meetings earlier than expected.

 

**Lucifer: I will be finished here at 2 and should be hitting Lawrence by 3:30. I’ll come by the shop? - 12:17pm**

 

**Castiel: Wonderful. I will tell Gabriel. - 12:23pm**

 

He arrived in a sleek silver rental car, his black wool coat as striking as ever as it swirled around his calves. Castiel watched from the window as his brother crossed the street below, terror and elation dancing behind his ribs. Lucifer stopped on the pavement, staring up at the sign for Reynard’s with a blank expression. Even from the floor above Cas could see his pinkie wiggling madly. Grabbing his shoes and shoving them on his feet Cas took the stairs three at a time. He burst through the door onto the sidewalk, skidding to a stop.

Lucifer blinked at him, his mouth quirked to one side. “Castiel.” He said, opening his arms wide. Cas practically jumped into them, latching onto his older brother with both arms. Lucifer was enormous and solid and warm and _here_ and for a moment Cas could barely believe it.

“Well this is different.” Lucifer observed with a chuckle, a large hand patting Cas’s shoulder as the younger Novak stepped away.

“I’m sorry.” Cas said immediately, embarrassed. He rarely let his emotions run away with him but seeing Lucifer here after days of anticipation was overwhelming.

“Don’t be.” Lucifer smiled. “It’s a much better welcome than last time. I approve of the upgrade.”

Cas smiled shyly. “Please, come in out of the snow.” He led his brother into Reynard’s his heart still beating at twice its normal speed. Gabriel was waiting for them at the counter, his arms crossed and his jaw set.

“Hey, Lllllucy.” He said, drawing out the L irritably. Lucifer just smiled and thrust his hand out for a shake.

“Gabriel.” He said, tilting his head to one side when Gabe finally deigned to grip his hand. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“Cas invited you, not me.” Gabe growled, scowling at their younger brother. Castiel was too worked up to do more than shift nervously, his eyes flicking back and forth between his brothers.

Lucifer rolled his shoulders easily. “Which makes it easy for you to pretend you don’t want me here.” He said. “Pretty shrewd for the baby of the family, don’t you think?” Castiel watched as Gabriel fought a smile. His mouth twisted and his eyebrows pinched together. “Of course with brothers like us he couldn’t have remained a complete innocent, could he?”

Gabriel shrugged. “He’s got that ‘innocent little lamb’ thing you used to do down pat. Threw me puppy eyes and everything to get me to agree this.”

Lucifer laughed. “And you crumbled like the giant softie you are, I see. I’m glad he learned at least one useful thing from me.” He winked at Castiel and suddenly it was like he was ten years old again, watching Lucifer smooth talk Michael into letting him borrow his car.

“Soft, my perky ass.” Spat Gabe. “You ruin Thanksgiving and I’ll be stuffing the devil up a turkey’s naughty bits.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Lucifer’s grin was ruthless. He and Gabriel really were very alike sometimes, thought Cas. “But noted. I’ll keep my mischief to a minimum.”

“Please.” Groaned Gabe. “We all know I was the family mischief-maker. You were too busy plotting world domination to pull the really good tricks off.”

“I’ve never lacked ambition.” Lucifer agreed easily. “But I think you always had me beat on imagination. How else do you explain that monstrosity?” he pointed to a large cake in the display case on which Gabriel was leaning. It was dome-shaped with a marzipan cartoon turkey’s head, enormous red wattle, and huge colorful feathers sticking out the back. It looked both demented and delicious.

“ _That_ is a pilgrim pie, I’ll have you know. It’s festive as fuck.” Gabe sniffed.

“If you say so.” Lucifer shrugged. “Looks more like a cake than a pie.”

“Artistic license.”

“False advertising.”

Castiel tried not to smile as their pair vied back and forth, something fond spreading through his chest. His phone pinged in his pocket and he pulled it out.

 

**Dean: He there yet? _-_ 3:16pm**

 

It wasn’t the first text Dean had sent him today, concerned about the potential for a rocky reunion. Feeling Dean’s protective instincts focused on him sent a surge of wobbily warmth through him.

 

**Castiel: Just arrived. He and Gabriel are trading insults. It seems to be going well. - 3:17pm**

 

**Dean: Good luck - 3:17pm**

 

He slid his phone away and caught Lucifer watching him.

“The boyfriend already smothering you?” Gabriel asked too-loudly, eying Lucifer sharply as he said it. Though Lucifer’s eyes widened very slightly the rest of his expression remained calm and smiling.

“Boyfriend?” He said mildly, his pinkie jumped rhythmically and Cas tensed from head to foot. Lucifer wanted to be here. Lucifer knew he was homosexual. Lucifer had reached out to him. Lucifer was “less traditional” than their father. “Less traditional” than Michael.

“Hey.” Gabe said, his hand dropping heavily on Cas’s shoulder. Cas glanced up, startled out of his mounting panic. He smiled, patting Gabriel’s hand in thanks.

“Yes.” Castiel said, turning back to Lucifer. He met his eyes, squaring his shoulders and refusing to let the fear take over. “You met him before. Dean Winchester.”

Lucifer hummed, twisting his lips in an unreadable expression. “I see. You told me he was just a friend.” His voice was carefully level, giving nothing away. Gabriel’s fingers tightened in Cas’s shirt.

“At that time he was.” Cas nodded. “Things have… progressed, since.”

Gabe snorted. “Yeah, his tongue progressed down your throat.” he snickered.

Castiel turned a glare on him as Lucifer blinked rapidly. “Please don’t make this harder than it is, Gabriel.” Cas chastized. Gabriel shrugged but had the good grace to look apologetic.

“Dean,” Lucifer cleared this throat, still standing perfectly immobile, “You’re dating Dean Winchester?“

“Yes.” Castiel thrust his chin out in a challenge. For a long moment Lucifer just stared at him, his expression identical to that night all those months ago. Blank, naked shock. To anyone else it would have seemed like indifference, boredom. But Lucifer was his brother and he knew what it looked like when his brother was thinking hard.

“I see.” Was all he said.

A flash of anger brought Cas to his feet. “Lucifer.” He said, proud of how steady his voice was. Lucifer didn’t so much as twitch but Cas could feel Gabe behind him, ready to quite literally back him up. “You know I am homosexual. That does mean that I will be dating men.”

Lucifer nodded. “I am aware of the definition of homosexuality, Castiel. Thank you. I just…”

“Just what?” Gabe demanded.

Lucifer pursed his lips in distaste. “A mechanic? Really?”

Complete silence reigned between them for a solid minute. Then Cas was laughing. Long, and loud. He tipped his head back, shouting his laughter to the ceiling. When his eyes cleared of the tears he found both his brothers staring at him.

“I’m sorry.” He giggled, wiping his eyes. Without warning he wrapped Lucifer in a hug, hiccuping as Lucifer jumped. “I had expected you to be uncomfortable that I was seeing a man. I expected harsh words and pain. And instead I got an older brother who was worriedhis little brother’s partner might not be good enough for him.”

He felt Lucifer’s smile curl against his hair as one arm tentatively pressed around his shoulders. “ _Is_ he good enough for you, Castiel?”

Cas stepped back, still chuckling. “I believe so, yes.”

Lucifer sighed, glancing to Gabriel. “Is he a good man, Gabriel?”

Gabriel frowned, wobbiling his head back and forth and making a show of his decision. “Eh.” He squeaked. “Dean’s ok. For a _Mechanic.”_

“Good.” Lucifer smiled.

“He’s got weird taste, though.” Gabe grinned, ruffling Cas’s hair.

Castiel couldn’t remember ever looking forward to a Thanksgiving dinner more.


	27. Reconnection

Dean flipped his phone over and over in his hands, leaning on the bar as he chewed on his lower lip. Cas hadn’t texted, which probably meant things were going fine. Still, he couldn’t help the crawl of worry under his skin as he remembered the hollow hurt in Cas’s face when Lucifer had left the garage that first time. Just thinking of the tears made his arms twitch to wrap themselves around Cas.

Goddamnit. He was growing a freaking uterus. He could feel it.

“What’s on your mind, cowboy?” Ellen asked, shoving his head affectionately as she hustled by with a case of bourbon on her hip. She dropped it under the bar and started unloading bottles onto the shelf, a towel thrown over her shoulder.

Oh. Right. Ellen probably wasn’t up to speed. Well, maybe she was? Cas and Sam and them had been practically living in her basement in the run-up to midterms so she’s probably heard all about Dean’s little announcement.

“Uh… so me and Cas are a thing now.” He mumbled. Probably best to get that shit out of the way right now.

Ellen smiled at him, her eyes all soft and twinkly. “I heard.” She said. “Joanna Beth was just about bubbling over with it.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well.” He wasn’t really sure where to go from there.

“Bobby said you looked like you were gonna hurl on his floor after you made that big show of asking the boy out.” Ellen grinned, wiping the fingerprints from neck of a bottle.

“Hey.” Dean protested mildly. He’d actually been way closer to pissing his pants than throwing up.

“Can’t believe you thought any one of those boys wouldn’t back you a hundred percent in something like that.” She shook her head, her hair bouncing crazily around her shoulders. “Sometimes you are dumber than a bucket of fish heads.” Dean grumbled but didn’t have a real reply for that. John had made it clear how “real men” felt about that sort of stuff - gay stuff - and Bobby had been John’s friend. They must have had at least a few things in common. How was Dean supposed to know that homophobia wasn’t among them?

“For the record, I couldn’t be happier about it.” Ellen continued, stomping on the empty box to break it down. “Cas is a real stand up kid and he’s miles above the trash you’re normally chasing around this bar. Jo’s practically adopted the kid at this point, like he was a little lost puppy or something.”

Dean smiled, conjuring a mental image of Jo brushing Cas’s hair and lovingly fastening a little spiked collar around his throat.

Oh. Hang on. The collar had potential…

“So if you're tying yourself in knots about what I’m gonna think of it you can just knock it off right now.” Ellen finished, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

Dean’s heart crumpled just a little, blond hair and an affectionate touch taking him back twenty years to another woman who had loved him.

When he could breathe again he shook his head and cleared his choked throat.

“No, uh.” He tried again. “Thanks, Ellen. But it’s not that.”

“Then what’s your worry? You’ve got that dent between your eyebrows again.” She drew a line between her own eyebrows with her index finger.

Dean sighed. “Cas’s brother is in town.” He explained.

Ellen nodded. “Lucifer. I heard he was coming to dinner tomorrow. So what’s that got to do with you?”

“Nothing.” Dean answered immediately. He wasn’t already coming off like some jealous controlling d-bag, was he? “Nothing. Just… Last time Cas saw him he was pretty… pretty messed up. For a few days after.”

“He’d just found out his father was sick.” Ellen shrugged. “That’s enough to rattle anyone.”

“Yeah.” Dean scratched at his ear, leaning his hip on the counter. “I know. But it was more than that. He was _scared_ of him, Ellen.”

“Well they didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, Dean.”

“Exactly. Family shit is tough, I know that. I’m just worried about him, is all.” Dean ground his teeth. He sounded like a frigging wimp but it was the truth. Cas was over there with only Gabriel to back his play and even though Dean had seen Gabe’s “hurt Castiel and I will end you” act up close and personal, Lucifer was Gabe’s big brother, too. Would Gabe be able to throw that kind of threat at him? Not as fast as Dean could, he was sure.

Ellen was smiling again, her hand on her hip and her fingers drumming against her jeans. “Look at you.” She hummed, shaking her head. “You got it bad, kid.”

“Shut up, Ellen.”

Sam and Jo showed up with the evening crowd, Sam toting one of his geek books and looking like he could use a nap. Dean had been watching his brother pretty damn close over the past week or two, remembering how bad it could get when Sam got stressed out. That’s what those counselling people at the hospital had said, was to watch for stress. Tessa, the hot psychiatrist chick they’d stuck on Sammy’s case, had said Sam needed to “manage” his stress better. “Channel it into healthy activities” and all that bullshit. Normally Dean would have written that off as psychobabble bullshit but this was Sammy. It seemed like a pretty legitimate assessment to say the more focused he got the worse his decision-making abilities became. And being a Winchester his decision-making abilities had been kinda shitty to start with. That’s what had caused this whole mess. Well, one of the things.

Besides, Tessa had been pretty damn hot so listening to her wasn’t exactly a chore.

Dean’s role in managing Sam’s stress - according to Tessa - was to trust the kid, support him and communicate and all that other stuff he completely sucked at. Dean was way better at hovering like a frigging helicopter. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, of course. So when he saw Sam starting to strain a bit, getting those lines under his eyes and forgetting to put every single long-ass hair in place before leaving the house it made Dean’s chopper blades start to twitch.

Sam and Jo dropped into their usual booth, Jo pulling out her phone and Sam opening his book. Dean hustled over to check on them under the guise of taking an order. He wasn’t sure why they still went through this rigamarole every time they came in. Jo had grown up in that kitchen, and Sam too, so they were perfectly capable of putting their own orders in. Hell, Jo could probably cook it all, too. Pretending to take their order, serving food they were completely capable of getting themselves, it was one of those weird rituals that no one quite knew who started or if it should end.

“Hey guys.” Dean screwed on a smile. “Glad to be on vacation?”

Sam frowned but Jo raised her hand for a high five. Dean obliged, the crack of their hands deepening Sam’s frown. “Hell yeah, I am.” Jo sighed. “I’m not using my brain for the next thirty-six hours at all. I’m just eating, and sleeping, and not thinking about school once.”

“And that’s different from usual how?” Dean asked, earning a slap on the thigh. He chuckled. “Heard the team bombed out at the eastern qualifiers.” Ellen had told him Lawrence field hockey would not be making an appearance at the state game this year, which meant Sammy’s cheering section would be even louder next game.

Jo rolled her eyes. “Thank god. We were totally crap this year. It was only the Lawrence legacy intimidating all the other teams that got us this far.”

“No more Saturday morning practices then, hu?” Dean chuckled, discreetly eyeing Sam. His brother didn’t appear to be aware they were even there, his nose pressed so close to his book Dean was pretty sure he was gonna go cross-eyed.

“Nope. Just sleep, sleep, sleep.” Jo singsonged with a blissful expression. “Until my mom hauls me up to revarnish the underside of the tables with a kitchen sponge or something.” She ended with a frown. Ellen Harvelle did not tolerate idleness, not in her employees and not in her daughter. That was a large part of why Jo played sports at all, Dean knew, just to give herself an excuse to sit down at the end of the day.

“What about you, Sammy? Did you sleep in this morning?” It was a pretty weak attempt at covering his concern over Sam’s sleeping habits but he kept his eyes wide and innocent as Sam turned a caustic glare on him.

“I got more sleep than you last night, Dean.” Sam bitched, his fingers tapping impatiently against the page.

“Ok, cool. Just… checking.” Dean shrugged.

“Well you can stop checking.” Snapped Sam.

Dean fought the urge to smack him. As it was he clenched his teeth, gripped his pen tightly and thought of Tessa. “Don’t be a dick, Sammy.” He said mildly.

Sam twitched, his bitchface intensifying. For a moment Dean was pretty sure he was gonna throw a punch but then he saw - he actually saw - Sam count to ten inside his head. He watch his nostrils deflate and his shoulders drop. It was pretty weird but he and Jo pretended nothing was out of place. He just wiggled his pen and waited. When Sam opened his eyes again and they were soft and calm Dean was so fricken proud he thought he might bust.

They’d decided on that code a month or so after Sam got out of the hospital. Tessa had told them to “communicate more meaningfully”, which Dean guessed meant calling each other on their shit instead of ignoring any and all emotions as their dad had taught them. But since that was weird and uncomfortable as hell they’d decided on a shortcut. It was mostly Sam’s idea and it had been a great one; to come up with some phrases that got the job done and didn’t actually require inserting a tampon to say. Sam was definitely the better one when it came to talking out his feelings so Dean knew full well the idea had been an act of mercy for his big brother. And boy, did he appreciate it. Dean had a couple new phrases that appeared harmless and ordinary but were reserved strictly for serious conversations.

“Don’t be a dick” was key. It roughly meant ‘I’m not trying to control you, I’m worried about you’. It was also an acknowledgement that maybe all that worry was Dean’s fault, a part of his essential nature and nothing to do with anything Sam had done. It usually worked to diffuse a pissy Sasquatch.

Sam looked up at him and Dean was struck by how _adult_ his little brother looked. Way older than the permanent eight-year-old Sam Dean had stuck in his head.

“Jerk.”

Dean grinned. There was a code-word that predated Tessa. And Dean knew exactly what it meant.

 

* * * *

 

The sight of Lucifer’s brown leather Testonis sinking into Gabriel’s plush, mustard-colored rug was nearly enough to send Castiel into hysterics. Lucifer stood very still, a stark black streak against the riot of velvet and animal print that was Gabriel’s apartment. He had always looked so at home amid the linen and dark wood of his own stylish loft, so at ease with himself on the silk carpets and cool brick of their father’s house, but here in the glaring chaos of Gabriel’s home his beautifully tailored suit and sardonic expression looked completely ludicrous.

“He really is a massive child, isn’t he?” Murmured Lucifer, staring at the large hula-girl lamp on the side table. Castiel was fairly sure he was talking to himself, but shrugged his agreement.

“It’s called whimsy, Lucy.” Gabriel corrected with a sniff, kicking his shoes off at the door. “And don’t knock Konani. She’s a classic. Cas, open that bottle of wine, would you?”

“ _Luc_ , if you would.” Lucifer sighed, rubbing at his temple. He slipped out of his coat and allowed Gabriel to hang it up alongside his scuffed canvas jacket.

“Still can’t take a joke, hu, Lucy?” Gabriel sniffed, dropping hard into his squishy sofa.

“About as well as you can, _Gabby_.” Lucifer challenged, slumping elegantly into Gabriel’s armchair.

Gabriel snorted. Castiel drifted into the kitchen, finding the corkscrew and pulling down a dark bottle from the rack atop the refrigerator.

“So, the business seems to be thriving.” Lucifer said conversationally.

“You’re not here to talk profits and acquisitions are you?” Gabe sighed. “Cause I gotta tell you, _Luc_ , I’m not interested.”

It was Lucifer’s turn to snort. “Oh yes, Gabriel. I’m here to snatch your little kitchen out from under you and bring you back into the Novak fold. You’ve seen through my nefarious plan.”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t always favored the soft-ball approach. I’m just cutting through the bullshit.”

“You think I intend to bind you up with ink and paper?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Subtlety I’ll own up to but tell me this, Gabriel, have I ever been stupid?” Lucifer demanded, a hint of steel in his voice. “Father’s money couldn’t keep a fifteen-year-old delinquent under his rule, what makes you think I would be dumb enough to assume it has any greater appeal to you now?”

Gabriel shook his head. “I still don’t trust this new leaf you’re suddenly turning over. You wouldn’t risk coming out here and pissing off dear-old Dad if there weren’t something in it for you.”

Lucifer bristled, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Reconnecting with my wayward brothers isn’t incentive enough?” he asked.

“If we were the Waltons, maybe, but for you? No.”

Castiel watched Lucifer’s knuckles whiten on his knee. When he spoke again his voice was achingly cool. “Shockingly I don’t particularly care for your opinion of my motives. I’ve never lied to you. You know that.”

“Lied directly, no.” Gabriel conceded. “Omitted some pretty important shit, definitely.”

Castiel sighed, pouring two glasses of wine and settling on the arm of the couch beside Gabriel. He handed one to each of his brothers before drawing his knees up to his chest. The sight of him curling in on himself seemed to bring both of his brothers back to their civility. He watched them both readjust their postures into something less confrontational.

“A promising start to our holiday, don’t you think?” Lucifer chuckled, sipping his wine delicately. “This is quite good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Gabriel grinned, tipping his own glass back. “I have fantastictaste.”

“Clearly.” Lucifer laughed, patting an upsettingly hairy throw pillow.

“How are Judith and Sarah?” Castiel asked, desperate for news of his little nieces. He had babysat them so many times, helped Sarah prepare for her first communion. It ached to know he wouldn’t be there to do the same for Judith. Lucifer’s face softened and he pulled his phone from his pocket and pulled up a photo of two young girls, one stringy and blonde the other a pudgy brunette. They wore matching pale blue dresses and serene smiles. Castiel felt tears prickling in his eyes as he took the phone in trembling fingers.

“They’ve grown so much.” He murmured.

“I can send you that photo, if you’d like.” Lucifer offered.

“Those are Michael’s brats?” Gabriel demanded, snatching the phone. He’d left well before Sarah had even been thought of. “Well. At least he got something out of marrying that stone-cold-“

“Motherhood has softened Caroline somewhat.” Lucifer interjected, a knowing smile curling his lips. “She has become quite docile.”

“I’ll bet. Like a neutered rhino.” Gabe sneered. Castiel had to admit he had never been overly fond of his brother’s wife either, but she cared very much about her daughters and that was admirable.

“How is Anna?” Cas asked, desperate suddenly for news of the family.

“Well.” Lucifer assured him. “She is the only one who speaks of you two anymore. I thought I might tell her about spending time with you, if it’s alright.”

Castiel glanced to Gabriel, conflicted. Anna had agreed with Michael that night when he’d denounced the priest for pitying a dead woman. She had nodded along as he spoke of the evils of homosexuality, her red hair bobbing in a hypnotic sheet. Gabe scowled but shrugged, leaving the decision to him.

“Not just now.” He said quietly, twisting his hands with the guilt of it. She was his sister, and he knew that beneath whatever else she was feeling she must be at least a little worried about him.

Lucifer’s face fell but he nodded, taking his phone back gently.

The talk of family didn’t last, the subject quickly turning to Castiel and his new life alongside Gabriel. At first he squirmed, fully aware of how painful it must be for Lucifer to see him here, happy and free as he had never been with the rest of his family. But as Lucifer kept up a gentle course of questions, asking about everything from his grades to his work at the garage he found it easier to open up. Lucifer was surprised to hear Castiel had taken fencing back up.

“You were so adamant about dropping it when we moved to Hartford.” He reminded Cas.

Castiel nodded. “I was concerned about my grades and getting into a good college. Since I won’t be applying this year it seemed like a good idea to pick it back up.”

“One of your friends suggested it?” Lucifer pushed.

Castiel nodded. “Sam Winchester introduced me to their captain, Alfie, thinking that perhaps I’d like to join the team again. It has been a very good experience.”

“They can’t be very good.” Lucifer frowned and Castiel tried not to let himself get angry.

“They aren’t.” Cas agreed. “But that isn’t the point. They are eager to learn and they’ve been very kind to me. Alfie has become a very good friend. “

“Alfie?” Lucifer mused. “The skinny boy from the bar. Will he be at this dinner tomorrow?”

Cas shook his head. “No. But Jo Harvelle, the girl who was with me that night, and her mother are hosting it.”

“Real pistol she is, too.” Gabe grinned. “Been keeping Cas under her wing pretty tight.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting her properly.” Lucifer smiled.

By the time Castiel had filled Lucifer in on nearly all that had happened since he left Connecticut it was nearly ten o’clock and Cas was yawning widely. Gabriel was slouched deep into this couch, his empty wine glass cradled against his thigh as he rolled a spent lollipop stick from one corner of his mouth to the other. Lucifer looked as prim and alert as ever but his eyes softened as Cas drooped on the arm of the sofa.

“I think I’ll let you rest up for tomorrow.” He said gently, touching Cas’s socked toe with the tip of his Testoni.

“You don’t have to go.” Cas protested, sitting up straighter.

“It’s alright.” Lucifer assured him. He rose and retrieved his coat, gliding his hands through the sleeves. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Castiel gripped the broad hand Lucifer held out to him, his fingers locking around Lucifer’s longer, thicker ones.

“Goodnight Lucifer.” He said.

“Night, Lucy.” Gabriel chirped, grinning when Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“You never give up, do you?” he sighed.

“Eh. I think Cas has the monopoly on persistence in this family.” Gabe chuckled, standing and offering his hand for a shake. Castiel watched as his brothers shared a nearly identical smile.

 

* * * *

 

**Castiel: Hello, Dean. - 11:20pm**

 

**Dean: Hey, Cas. What’s up? - 11:24pm**

 

**Castiel: I’m having difficulty falling asleep. - 11:26pm**

 

**Dean: Bad day with Lucifer or nervous about tomorrow? - 11:31pm**

 

**Castiel: The second, I think. - 11:35pm**

**Castiel: He and Gabriel have clearly missed each other so dearly, but they insist on bickering. You know how Gabriel can be when he senses a weakness and I think Lucifer does genuinely feel guilty about allowing us to leave. - 11:42pm.**

 

**Dean: Yeah, Gabe’s a real piece of work when he wants to be - 11:45pm**

**Dean: Don’t worry about tomorrow. You’ll have Sam and Jo and Ellen and Ash and Bobby there all rooting for you.If you think Ellen’s gonna let anything kick off in her house you’d better think again - 11:47pm**

 

**Castiel: That’s true. - 11:49pm**

 

**Dean: And I’ll be there - 11:55pm**

 

**Castiel: Thank you, Dean. - 12:03am**

 

**Dean: Just say the word and I kick his fancy ass back to the east coast. - 12:04am**

 

**Castiel: I don’t think that will be necessary. But thank you for the offer. - 12:06am**

 

**Dean: No problem. Think you can sleep? - 12:08am**

 

**Castiel: I think so. Goodnight, Dean. - 12:09am**

 

**Dean: Night Cas - 12:10am**

 

* * * *

 

Dean jumped to his feet at the sound of a car door, ignoring the gurgle of his stomach as the smells from the kitchen grew stronger. Gabe had already been here when Dean and Sam arrived, an apron thrown on over a slightly dressier version of his normal clothes and a vicious spatula whipping at anyone who tried to edge into the kitchen. Cas had stayed behind. He’d be bringing Lucifer over closer to meal time. Sam, Jo, and Ash were in the living room watching the game with Bobby, and Ellen was the only one allowed in the kitchen with Gabe. Dean was kind of surprised he even let her in there.

Sam was looking a bit more relaxed. He hadn’t even cracked a book this morning as far as Dean could tell. That had to be a good sign, right?

Dean had set himself on the window seat in the living room to keep a look out. He peered out into the crowded driveway to see a silver BMW parked closer than he’d have said was safe to Ash’s monstrosity. Cas popped out of the passenger’s seat, a paper bag in one hand. From the driver’s side unfolded the tall, imposing figure of his great big dick of a brother, Lucifer. Dean felt his shoulders tighten in reaction to that face and his eyes shot to Cas’s face. He relaxed a bit when he saw Cas’s expression, softly smiling at the taller guy. Okay. So Cas was doing ok. That was good.

“Having kittens there Dean-o?” Ash called, chuckling when Dean flicked him the bird.

Dean chucked his jacket around his shoulders and trotted out onto the porch, his chest tightening as a smile broke across Cas’s face.

“Hello, Dean.” He said, stopping just a few inches from Dean’s face.

Dean was stuck. He wanted to grab Cas and kiss him for all he was worth - had it really been two days since he’d gotten to actually kiss him? Unacceptable. Still, making out in front of his older brother was a pretty dick move, especially with the whole homophobia thing. The problem was solve for him when Cas raised himself on his toes and kissed Dean’s cheek, his lips warm and dry.

Dean repressed the tiny sigh that rose in his throat and grinned at Cas. “Hey.” He said, gripping Cas’s arm. “Everything good?”

“Perfectly fine, Dean.” Cas smiled. He turned, waving his hand to include his brother in the conversation. “Lucifer, you remember Dean.”

“How could I forget?” Lucifer chuckled, offering his hand for a shake. Dean didn’t like the glint in the guy’s eye but it was Cas’s brother so he held his tongue. “Pleasure to see you again. I hope it will be less… tense between us this time around.”

“That’s up to you.” Dean flared. Cas stepped a fraction of an inch closer to him and Dean forced himself to relax again.

Lucifer pursed his lips, his eyebrows drifting up his forehead. “Got a bit of the junkyard dog about you, don’t you?” he observed.

Dean’s fingers tightened on Cas’s arm but before he could respond Cas levelled a glare at his brother.

“I believe you recall Gabriel’s promise about the turkey, Luc?” he said flatly. Lucifer blinked at him a moment before he burst out laughing. Dean looked between the two of them, relaxing as Cas’s smile reappeared.

“What’s that about?” Dean murmured as Lucifer laughed.

“My brothers have made it clear I had better keep a tight reign on my tongue during this celebration.” Lucifer supplied, chuckling. “And I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“Yeah ‘cause it was so flattering.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Please, let’s go inside before I freeze and I’ll apologize properly.” Lucifer begged, taking the bag from Cas’s hand.

As he strode up the porch Dean hung back, catching Cas as he tried to follow.

“Dean?” Cas asked, pausing. He turned with concern written in his blue eyes and Dean figured _to hell with Lucifer_. Before he could chuckle at the irony of that particular thought he was kissing Cas, a hand against his neck and one thumb feeling the movement of his jaw.

Yeah. Two days was definitely way too long.


	28. Everything We've Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, sorry in advance for the schmaltz but I couldn't help myself. Feedback is life, enjoy!

Castiel gripped the edge of the counter, counting his breaths as he listened to the muffled voices from the other room.

From almost the moment he’d arrived Lucifer had been a thorn in Castiel’s paw. He had begun the afternoon by effortlessly charming Ellen, Jo, and even Ash. A few well-placed compliments had set them all at their ease and he’d even managed to strike up a conversation with Bobby about football, a game which was still largely a mystery to Castiel. He’d offered two bottles of quality but not lavish wine from the bag they’d brought, making his excuses for not providing any of the food. A self-deprecating remark about his own cooking abilities and a nod to Gabriel’s talent in that area had Ellen smiling kindly and Bobby nodding along.He’d asked Jo and Sam a few innocuous questions about school and the sports Castiel had told him they played, congratulating Sam on his success with the lacrosse team. To anyone who didn’t know him he was the picture of affability. But Castiel knew better.

Lucifer’s smile had been bright and false, his language urbane and polite. But Castiel could see it, the hard line of judgement behind his every word. These people were beneath Lucifer. Bobby in his best flannel shirt, Ash with his cans of cheap beer, even Ellen. He had watched Lucifer’s cold gaze slide over them all, the start of a sneer well hidden behind his prim civility.

The only glimmer of honest appreciation Cas had detected was during the meal when he complimented Gabriel’s turkey. As they took their seats - Sam and Castiel flanking Lucifer who took the end of the table, Gabriel, Ash and Jo next to Cas and Dean and Bobby beside Sam. Ellen was seated at the other end with her daughter on one side and Bobby on the other. Bobby carved the turkey, Ellen heaping everyone’s plates with sweet potatoes, squash, green bean casserole, stuffing and fresh rolls Lucifer had waxed poetic on the virtues of a well-crafted meal. Gabriel had received the praise with a stiff glare and a muted hum, instantly turning his attention to Jo and Ash. Sam had made a valiant effort to include Lucifer. He’d asked a near-endless litany of law-related questions, from what sort of firm Lucifer worked for to what the LSATS had been like. He’d maintained an impressively insightful conversation about the differences in law degrees across the country and confessed his desire to one day attend Stanford.

“Ah.” Lucifer had lilted, a condescending smile coming to his face that no one could have missed. “Standford. I have heard they’ve quite improved since my time at Harvard. And for a west coast school they have a very respected program.”

Cas had cringed as Dean’s fingers tightened around his fork, murder flashing in his green eyes. Gabe looked like he was about to launch himself across the table. Sam had only smiled and moved gracefully on with the conversation. When the frustration had finally boiled over Castiel had excused himself to the kitchen. Most of Lucifer’s digs had been much more subtle than that; a hint of distaste brushing his mouth as Ash tossed his mullet over his shoulders, a flickering blink as Jo rested her elbows on the table. Castiel wasn’t sure his friends even noticed most of them. But he did. Gabriel must have. Lucifer could be hard to read but the one thing that always came through loud and clear was his disdain. When it came to that Cas knew every pinch and twist of his brother’s mouth even if his friends couldn’t see. It was absolutely infuriating.

He had kept his peace, biting the inside of his cheek as his blood pounded in his ears. If no one else noticed Lucifer’s sniping he wasn’t going to be the one to point it out and ruin their afternoons. He didn’t know why his brother was behaving this way. What did he stand to gain by it? Did he think Castiel would be falling all over himself to make room for him in his life if he was going to be an ass at every given opportunity? Castiel would have to correct that misconception as soon as he had a moment alone with Lucifer. Whatever the reason, it was a clever and infuriating game his brother played, and one he was an absolute master of. Castiel had never been on the receiving end of it but he knew now why Michael had always refused to allow Lucifer to his business dinners. The wretch.

“Jesus.”

Cas jumped at the heavy hand that clapped on his shoulder. “Dean.” He said, turning to find green eyes flickering with annoyance.

“How the hell did you make it seventeen years without punching that guy in the throat?” Dean growled, crowding Cas up against the counter. Castiel’s heart-rate tripled as Dean shoved his nose into the corner of his jaw, inhaling deeply as if Cas’s scent might give him strength.

“Dean.” He breathed again, his knees wobbling as his eyes slipped closed without his permission. Dean nipped at the skin of his throat and let his hands bracket Cas’s hips, his thumbs tracing smooth circles over his jeans. “I’m sorry.” Dean snorted, laying a startlingly wet kiss at the edge of Cas’s collar. Cas pressed his shoulder up, desperate for a stronger touch. Suddenly his blood was boiling for an entirely different and altogether more pleasant reason.

“What have you got to apologize for?” Dean slurred, his lips a bit too busy to articulate clearly. “He’s pushing every button he can find, the dick.”

“You saw?” Cas pulled back, his head spinning as he tried to keep the conversation running alongside the unbearably interesting things Dean was doing to him. “I mean, does everyone see it?” Lucifer had hardly said a word to Dean after they’d come inside, choosing instead to ignore him unless Dean asked him a direct question. Even then he’d kept to short, one-word answers and refused to engage any further. Dean had given up fairly quickly, content to let Sam lead the civilities but Cas had seen him watching Lucifer. Cas wasn’t sure what his brother was playing at but he knew it set his teeth on edge.

“Of course we do!” Dean scoffed, dipping his thumb into the front pocket of Cas’s jeans. Despite the lovely little trill that sent dancing all down Cas’s leg he frowned.

“I was hoping his rudeness had escaped notice to any but Gabriel and I.” He growled.

“Not like we could miss it, Cas. He practically told Ash to lick those stupid fancy shoes.” Dean rolled his eyes and went back to tracing the tip of his nose along Cas’s jaw.

Cas allowed himself a moment to enjoy this sudden and unexpected intimacy. He had hardly seen Dean in the whirlwind of Lucifer’s invitation and arrival and being so close to him again was making his head swim. He wanted to drag Dean off to the basement and lock the door, to escape to the Impala and drive anywhere where they might steal a half hour alone. He hardly knew what he would do with the time. All he knew what that he just wanted to _touch._ His hands shook as he slid them beneath Dean’s over-shirt, feeling the heat of him through his t-shirt.

Dean’s stubbled cheek scraped against his own, his bottom lip just catching the lobe of Castiel’s ear. Cas jerked hard as Dean took the soft flesh between his lips, a hot tongue darting out to taste. A tiny sound slipped from him, hardly audible, but he felt Dean’s mouth curl into a smile.

“Careful, Cas. Make enough noise and he might get curious and come looking.” he murmured, squeezing Cas’s hip. “He’d frigging love that, hu? Junk yard dog slobbering all over his little brother?”

Cas chuckled and quite firmly pushed Dean away. “I think the mortification of the actual event would outweigh the undoubtedly wonderful run-up.”

Dean grinned. “Party pooper.” He stole a final quick kiss. “And ‘wonderful’ doesn’t even come close, Cas.” He said, waggling his eyebrows. “It would be frigging epic.”

They stood a couple feet apart for a moment, composing themselves before Cas spoke again.

“If you all know what he’s doing why not say something?” Cas asked, confused. Dean had never backed down from a bully, and Sam and Jo had plenty of practice standing up to Raphael. Jo practically leapt at every opportunity to confront him. Castiel couldn’t imagine Bobby and Ellen putting up with this sort of behavior willingly without a very good reason. Ash was generally easy-going but even he had his limits. Limits Lucifer was undoubtedly reaching. Dean smiled at him as he tilted his head in confusion.

“Dumb question.” Dean said and turned to rummage in the fridge. He came out with a pair of beers, nodding his head back towards the dining room. “Come on, killer. Let’s get back to the party.”

Cas sighed but nodded. “Once more into the breach.”

“And if he makes one more crack about Sam’s ‘busy schedule of activities’ I’m going to pop him one.” Dean promised.

Cas laughed, letting some of his tension bleed away. As he retook his seat he met Lucifer’s curious gaze, his own hard as flint. If his friends could bear his obnoxious brother’s needling then so could he. Or better yet, he could put a stop to it. Cas retook his seat, holding Lucifer’s gaze. Lucifer’s eyebrows twitched but he made no other indication of having noticed a change in his brother. Dean passed a beer to Bobby and twisted the cap off his own, flicking it over his shoulder. Ellen frowned but didn’t say anything as she sipped her wine.

Lucifer watched the silent exchange, his expression giving away nothing of what he thought of such behavior. Cas kept an eye on him as the meal continued, ready for the next sign of trouble. Lucifer was in the middle of asking an increasingly sour-looking Bobby about why he had never expanded his clearly successful garage, not-so-subtly hinting that he doubted the business was quite up to snuff for that kind of move. Bobby grated out a stiff reply.

“Why the hell would I want to expand?” he demanded. “I got these fools all the work they can handle,” he motioned to Dean and Ash, “Got enough to cover everything I’d ever need and pay ‘em well. No sense in fixing what ain’t broke.”

“You’d know that if you were a mechanic.” Ash chipped in with a smirk.

Lucifer hummed but didn’t otherwise respond. “And Dean, what are your plans? Do you intend to be a mechanic for the rest of your life or do you have some other ambitions?” Castiel cringed. Dean threw Lucifer a sardonic look and shrugged.

“Right now I’m focused on family.” He said easily and Lucifer’s jaw tightened infinitesimally. It seemed Lucifer wasn't the only master of the subtle dig. “Getting Sam into school, making sure he’s got his feet under him. I’ll worry about me once I know my little brother is set up.”

Gabe glanced at Dean, mirth in his eyes for a moment before Lucifer wiped his lips delicately. “How admirable. It’s quite a responsibility, looking after a teenage boy, isn’t it? They always seem to find the quickest route to trouble. Gabriel was an absolute terror, if you can imagine.”

“Oh, we can imagine.” Ellen sniffed.

“I was a doll, Ellen.” Gabe assured her.

“Yeah, Chucky.” Bobby snorted.

“But you seem to have a very strong relationship.” Lucifer continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. Castiel had a feeling he knew where this was going and he didn’t like it. “Perhaps teenage boys aren’t such a mystery to you as to the rest of us.”

Dean turned a brilliant shade of red. Whether from embarrassment at the allusion to his relationship with Cas or anger Castiel wasn’t sure. Either way he had had enough. Lucifer could play the concerned older brother, the aloof guest, the domineering parent, but he wasn’t going to for one instant suggest that Dean’s motive toward Castiel were anything but appropriate.

Castiel placed his silverware on the edges of his plate with a sharp clink.

All eyes turned on him as he drew his shoulders back and glared at his brother, his jaw set and lips pursed. “Lucifer,” he ground out in a clear, steady voice.

Gabriel burst out laughing.

“Joke’s over, Lucy.” He declared, dropping his fork. It clattered against his plate and Jo and Sam jumped. Ellen and Bobby shared an exasperated sigh and Ash slumped back in his chair.

“So we’re done playing nice now?” Ellen sighed, looking relieved. She leaned one elbow on the table, her napkin dangling from her fingers as she wiped at her wine-stained lips.

“Looks that way.” Gabe grinned at Castiel.

“‘Bout damn time.” Ash groused, shoving a half a drumstick into his mouth. Around loud, smacking chews he spluttered, “I swear to Whitesnake I was _this close_ to hucking this thing at his face.” He waved his turkey leg over his head, scattering bits of skin and gristle.

“I was right behind you.” Bobby grunted, spooning up another mass of potatoes to drop on his plate.

Lucifer glanced around at them all, his eyes slowly growing wider and wider as he took in each face. “I think I see.” He said finally.

“Do you?” Gabe giggled, clearly barely suppressing his glee.

“Someone wanna fill me in on just what’s going on here?” Jo demanded, annoyed. Castiel was equally confused and looked between Lucifer and Gabriel.

“Lucy here’s been stroking every single nerve he could get his slimy fingers on since he walked through that door.” Gabe explained, tipping his chair back on two legs. “Quite subtly, too. Stanford, Ash’s truck, Ellen’s furniture. Not sure why, but he decided the way to approach this afternoon was to be as colossal a pain in the ass as possible until someone snapped.”

“And you all saw that, evidently.” Lucifer said, eyeing Sam with new interest. “And did your best to resist the temptation to put me in my place.” He didn’t look annoyed at being caught out, quite the opposite, Cas thought. He was _pleased_ to have been caught, and that they hadn’t taken his bait. “Now why could that be, I wonder.” He fixed Cas with a knowing smirk.

“You didn’t make it easy, Luc.” Sam smiled, flexing his hands on the table. “I just about cracked a knuckle trying not to hit you.”

“Zen master, Sammy.” Dean congratulated him, pride gleaming in his eyes. “I thought you were gonna flip when he started in on Stanford.”

“‘For a west coast school’.” Sam parroted, his face darkening. “Pft.” Castiel and Jo traded slightly lost looks.

“So… it wasn’t just me?” Jo asked, smiling slowly as comprehension dawned. “Were we all gonna just grit our teeth and bear it?”

Castiel watched in amazement as they all nodded, Lucifer’s smile growing broader by the second.

“For Cas?” Dean said, throwing his arm around Sam’s shoulders and beaming across the table at Castiel’s shocked expression. “Yeah.”

“Damn straight.” Bobby agreed and Ash waved his drumstick in agreement. “But I tell you right now, Novak, you make one more comment about my _little garage_ and I’ll shove a tire iron so far down your throat you’ll shit lug nuts for a week.”

Ellen laughed and took another bite of green beans, smiling down at her plate.

“Colorful.” Lucifer observed with a chuckle.

Castiel swallowed. For him? His mouth flapped open and closed once before Lucifer stood, raising his glass elegantly.

“Well. Since I seem to have been beaten at my own game I propose a toast.” He said, smoothing his dark tie. He waited until everyone had raised their glasses and bottles, Castiel’s finger shaking around his water glass. “To Castiel, perhaps the only one for whom these people would put up with me at my worst.”

“Oh come on, Lucy.” Gabriel laughed, poking him in the side. “That was you at like forty percent.”

Lucifer twitched a smile, slapping at Gabriel’s hand. “Perhaps sixty.” He admitted. “Still, not a single person here would have risked a word against me. Not because I was intimidating or because they thought it would be to their advantage to please me,” he looked at Sam here, “but because they knew Castiel wanted me here. They wouldn’t hurt him.” When he turned his face to Castiel it was lit with a fierce sort of pride. “I couldn’t have asked for a better reception. Little brother, if you can bring out tolerance and civility in so many and under such _adversity_ ,” he grinned around the word, tapping his shirt buttons with a touch of humor “then you certainly deserve mine. Best behavior.” He slashed his finger over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“What heart?” Gabe muttered, but raised his glass anyway.

“To Cas.” They chorused. Dean was grinning like a lunatic, his eyes crinkling beautifully. Cas could only stare back at him, stuck between shock and a gratitude so deep it nearly hurt.

Cas watched as all his friends drank, wondering when exactly his tongue had turned to stone. He sat silently as Sam and Lucifer shook hands, calling a truce and delving into a spirited discussion about Stanford’s law program. They hunched close, Lucifer’s eyes sparkling with animation as Sam gestured enthusiastically. Ellen and Bobby laughed and smiled. Jo and Ash chucked bits of food back and forth, trying to get it into each others’ mouths and missing terribly. It was as if the past few hours of frustration and insult had never happened.

Everything was fine. More than fine. The room practically glowed with contentment, all the anger dissipated in the wake of Lucifer’s announcement. The tap of a boot against his ankle brought him back to himself. He looked up to find Dean still smiling, but it had softened around the edges. He took in Cas’s face for a second before he stood, his chair scraping loudly on the floor. Everyone looked up again but Dean just chuckled.

“Cool it. We’re just going to take a little walk and let Cas digest, alright?” he rounded the table and pulled Cas up from his chair, a gentle touch at the small of his back guiding Cas toward the hall. Lucifer watched them, his expression hardly shifting as Dean herded Cas to the door.

“Keep it PG-13.” Gabriel warned. “If I have to come looking for you I’d rather not see anything that’ll require therapy.”

“No promises.” Dean replied airily and Ash laughed. Cas just caught Sam smiling at them as he was whisked out of the room, his face soft and unworried for the first time in weeks.

They ended up in the upstairs hallway near Jo’s room, Cas braced against the wall with shaking fingers over his eyes.

“Hey.” Dean said softly, placing one hand on the side of Cas’s neck. Castiel knew he must feel his heart thundering, the tremor running through him in a continuous loop. “Deep breaths, Cas.” He instructed.

Cas tried to obey, one hand coming to grip Dean’s wrist for support. Tears sprouted in his eyes and he laughed, embarrassed.

“Cas, it’s ok, man.” Dean murmured, wiping his thumb under Cas’s eye. “Pull it together.”

“Why…?” he stuttered unable to form the question in full.

Dean smiled. “Cause you’re you, Cas. You’re a good guy. You work your ass off for Bobby and Ash, you keep Sam and Jo from losing it. It goes two ways, remember?”

Cas bit his lip, afraid that he might actually shake out of his skin.

“You’re worth sitting through your shithead older brother, Cas. And there’s no ‘why’.” Dean explained in a whisper. He let his forehead rest against Cas’s gently. “You just are. You’re worth everything we’ve got.”

Cas let out a sob, shocked at himself. Why was this affecting him so deeply? He had known they all cared for him. Sam and Jo has stood by him through Raphael’s assaults, Ash and Bobby had made him feel welcome in a nearly alien landscape. Ellen had told him in no uncertain terms that she considered him part of the family now. So why was their show of affection so startling?

_Because you’ve never had this_ , a quiet internal voice informed him. It was true. He’d never had this. His mother had died too long ago for him to remember her. His family had let him walk away. Even Gabriel hadn’t been able to live under the same roof as Lucifer for his sake. Not that he blamed Gabriel. Leaving had been the right path for him and Castiel was glad he had taken it. But this, here, this was more. This was everything. This was belonging. Had this been Lucifer’s plan? To suss out whether his new friends cared for him well enough? Cas didn’t know. Frankly, he hardly cared.

Dean looked uncomfortable, his mouth scrunched to one side and an eyebrow cocked uncertainly. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. His hand stayed firm on Castiel’s neck though, determination in every pad of his fingers.

It struck Cas as funny that Dean should be able to stand up to Lucifer’s subtle digs and yet start to twitch at just the sight of Castiel’s tears. Confrontation he was comfortable with but heaven forfend he should stumble into a “chick flick moment”. Castiel started laughing through the tears, spitting and snotting unattractively as he struggled to deal with this welter of emotions. Dean’s discomfort turned to alarm as Cas sagged against him, his wet face pressing into Dean’s shoulder as he jolted and jarred, stuck somewhere between hilarity and heartache.

“Cas? Buddy?” he squeaked, his free arm coming automatically around Cas’s shoulders to brace him. “You’re starting to freak me out here.”

Cas laughed harder.

It was a few minutes until he could gulp it all down, a warm weight settling in his chest. His hands were clenched in the back of Dean’s shirt and he didn’t let go as he dropped back against the wall. With a startled startled huff Dean fell against him. Chest to chest, knees knocking together, Cas looked up into Dean’s face and sniffed.

“Gross, man.” Dean grinned shoving his flannel-covered roughly wrist under Cas’s nose.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas chuckled. “I’m not sure what that was.”

“Little overwhelmed, hu?” Dean guessed. “Family can do that do you.”

“Indeed they can.” Castiel nodded, thinking not about Lucifer but the rest of the people crowded around the too-small table downstairs.

“Ok, if we’re done getting all mushy and shit I’m going to kiss you some more.” Dean told him, pressing his thigh between Castiel’s. Cas smiled against Dean, their teeth clicking. For a few blissful minutes he enjoyed that sharpened sense of the world that came with Dean’s nearness. He revelled in the smooth skin beneath his palms as he dipped his hands under Dean’s t-shirt, the soft shiver of Dean’s eyelashes against his cheekbone. A gentle push and Cas was opening to Dean, his tongue tentatively stroking Dean’s more confident one as it led him through the motions.

His hips canted forward instinctively, rolling subtly against Dean’s. It wasn’t a conscious movement but the groan that caught in Dean’s throat, vibrating through his lips and into Cas’s was something he immediately wanted again. So he let his hips continue their sinuous course, raking his fingers up the back of Dean’s head.

“Holy shit, Cas you gotta stop that.” Dean drawled as Cas pull his lower lip between his teeth. His hips jerked forward once, snapping so hard against Cas’s that his ass thumped against the wall. The picture frames above his head rattled in protest.

“Why?” Cas demanded, pulling Dean’s face back to his. He didn’t want to stop and he knew Dean certainly didn’t. That much was clear in the way his hands refused to stop clutching at every part of him they could reach. He thrust forward boldly, loving how Dean gave way. Powerful, dogged Dean, who stood firm in the line of family and foe softened and shifted to accommodate him. He felt powerful as he thumbed over Dean’s ear and heard his breath catch. The fingers of his other hand dug hard into the muscle of Dean’s shoulder, feeling the shift and play of his bones beneath his skin.

“Mortification, remember?” Dean huffed weakly, his own hands gripping Cas’s ass hard. He didn’t seem to be listening to his own advice so Cas decided he didn’t need to either. Dean yanked Cas hard against him and Cas had to slap a hand against the wall to keep from losing balance. A frame leapt off the wall and clattered noisily to the floor.

They froze, Dean pulling back enough to blink hazily. They were both panting, a lovely flush spreading from the collar of Dean’s rumpled t-shirt up his neck. Cas was sure he looked equally rattled, his shirt rucked up to the bottom of his ribs exposing his flat belly to the chilly air. Dean’s gaze fell to that strip of exposed flesh and Cas swore he could feel the heat of it.

“Crap.” Dean chuckled, releasing Cas and backing away. He scrubbing his hands over his face as Castiel struggled to bring his breathing back to a normal human rate. He stayed half-sitting against the wall as he willed the stiffness in his jeans away, smiling as he realized Dean had adopted a similar posture against the far wall. How had he gone from emotional turmoil to staggeringly aroused in under a minute? Dean was capable of extraordinary things, clearly.

He rubbed at the dried tear-tracks on his cheek and watched Dean collect himself.

“Cas?” Dean asked when they could each stand relatively wobble-free. One hand was still rubbing at his cheek where Cas could see the evidence of his own stubble having scraped against the skin.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas was proud that his voice didn’t even shake.

Dean stared at him over his blunt fingertips, his mouth pulled into a worried frown. “How long until you’re eighteen? Because if I’m being honest I don’t know how long I can last.”

Castiel laughed, the last traces of strain drifting away on the sound.


	29. Afterword: Happier Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This bit contains scenes of a sexual nature from the start.  
> Sorry guys!! I know I haven’t posted in far too long but the new year has brought a whole host of new frustrations and excitements into my life and I’m still figuring out which way is up. Please accept this slightly dirty Valentine’s Day present as consolation. There is little to no plot in this chapter but… sorry, not sorry. I’m still very, very, very new to writing this sort of content so go easy on me, please.  
> Feedback is always appreciated and I promise to try and post again soon!  
> UPDATE: I've relabelled this chapter as an afterword. It made more sense to technically end the story on the last chapter but I wasn't going to cut this bit out. Enjoy!

Dean worried his teeth against his clenched fist and leaned his forehead to the cool tiles. Boiling water pounded against his shoulders, masking the slick sounds of his fist sliding over his dick. He huffed quick and sharp against his fingers, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried desperately not to make a sound. Sam had gone to bed early. He was getting ready to ace his midterms the next day and he’d threatened Dean with physical violence if he disturbed him for the next eight hours. He was just on the other side of the wall from the firing faucet and Dean did not want to deal with the bitchface Sam would be rocking in the morning if Dean’s happy-time noises woke him up. That always put Sam in the shittiest mood. Luckily, spending his teenage years on the road sharing tiny motel rooms with his father and little brother had allowed Dean to master the art of the quick and quiet jerk-off. It was a necessity, really.

Frigging Cas.

How one little nerd with a Clark Kent haircut and the fashion sense of a middle-aged bank teller could get Dean so goddamned worked up was a mystery. He’d showed up to the Roadhouse tonight for a pre-midterm good luck dinner thing Jo had decided on in one of his white button-ups and black pants, a look Dean hadn’t seen in months. He was used to Cas in rumpled t-shirts and Gabriel’s hand-me-downs, maybe a jumpsuit if he was pitching in with something particularly dirty at the garage. That’s what he was prepared to deal with. Cute but manageable. But Cas had seemed to feel this was some sort of _occasion_ rather than another night with the same people he always hung out with and he’d suited up in his nicer duds. Something about the crisp white collar against Cas’s tanned throat, the long, slick line of a leg, had nearly sent Dean through the frigging roof. Cas had strode through the crowd of much older people packing the bar with his head high and his polished shoes tapping lightly against the squeaky floorboards. He’d cut a path straight to Dean and greeted him with a smile, asking for a glass of ice water like he was ordering a martini. And the way he’d rolled his damn sleeves up, his fingers expertly popped the buttons on his cuffs, the quick flick of his wrist as he folded the material perfectly… Dean’s fist pumped faster as he thought of the shallow V where Cas had undone the top button of his collar, the simple comfort somehow more exciting on him than a chick in a mini skirt and a tube top.

Dean swallowed a groan.

The bar had nearly got an eyeful then. Dean had thought he’d take the edge off that sudden need to tackle Cas across the nearest horizontal surface by cracking a joke and ruffling the guy’s swept-back hair. He’d only managed to make matters worse for himself. Way worse. Basically, he’d given Cas sex hair. Innocently enough, sure, but the result was the same. Whatever hair shit Cas used kept the form Dean’s fingers pushed into it and when he’d stepped back that and the blush on Cas’s cheeks made him look about as close to ravished as Dean could have imagined.

And boy was he imagining.

He leaned over and grabbed the cheap conditioner stored on his side of the shower, filling his palm and slicking up his cock. Sammy’s organic vegan whatever shit was way too expensive for Dean to get away with stealing some without him noticing. And besides, Dean really didn’t want to risk getting some weird complex about the smell of Sam’s conditioner and start getting a hard-on every time he smelled coconut. That would be pretty damn scarring.

He circled his thumb over the head of his cock, letting his other hand rake roughly through his hair. Cas liked his hair, he’d noticed. He liked touching it. Whenever they kissed Cas’s fingers went straight to Dean’s head, teasing and tugging in a way that said he had no goddamn idea what he was doing to Dean every single time.

Cas was pretty clearly brand new to the physical stuff. He was clumsy and rough and sometimes he used too much tongue. The weird thing was that Dean kinda liked it. Ok, he really liked it. Like, a lot. Cas didn’t seem to give a shit how you were _supposed_ to kiss someone. He didn’t know or care what was too much, what was too fast. He just knew what he wanted and what he liked and he did it. Dean had never met anyone so… determined. In the week since that whole Thanksgiving day wall thing (and boy was that a memory he was going to hold on to forever) Dean couldn’t have said how many times Cas has startled a sound out of him mid-make-out by unexpectedly grabbing his ass - usually strong enough to hurt just a little. And Dean frigging loved it. It wasn’t often he was surprised with this kind of stuff, not often he handed over control and just let someone go for it. But Cas didn’t _ask_ for control. He just took it, dragging Dean along for the ride. Finesse was not Cas’s strong suit but he got the freaking job done, that was for sure.

Case in point: tonight, when a drop of water glistening on Cas’s bottom lip as he laughed along with his friends had finally driven Dean over the edge he had shouted his break at Ellen and flung his apron over the bar, then hauled the kid out of his seat and dragged him toward the back. They’d made it about three steps out the back door before Dean had him pressed up against the wall again. The chatter from inside had died away as Dean bracketed his hands on either side of Cas’s face, pinning him in place with elbows and hips. And Cas had just gone with it. He’d smiled as Dean’s tongue pushed into his mouth, hooked his hand in the back of Dean’s belt to pull him closer.

“ _Cas_.” Dean had panted, feeling ridiculous and awesome all at once as he’d nuzzled aside Cas’s collar and set to work on his neck.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice in his ear had been practically a growl. “I’ve been told my stare is intimidating but yours should be criminal.” Where the fuck this kid had learned to talk like that Dean had no idea. It was like a bad pickup line and still so hot Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or kiss the kid silly. He just knew he didn’t want him to stop talking any time soon. “Why have you been staring, Dean?” Cas pushed, a hand already on Dean’s head. It was like he was holding Dean in place, making sure he kept doing what he was doing until Cas told him he could stop.

“I don’t know, Cas.” Dean had mumbled against his skin. He smelled like soap and french fries and Dean wouldn’t have said that was combination that would rev his engine but it was doing the trick tonight. “You look good, Cas. Extra good.” He’d admitted. “Makin’ it hard not to do shit to you I probably shouldn’t.”

And that’s where Dean had pretty much lost the thread. Cas, his teeth sticking to the shell of Dean’s ear as he grinned, had kept one hand firmly in Dean’s hair and slipped the other one around to the front of Dean’s jeans. His fingers had found Dean’s mostly soft cock easy enough and just squeezed. Lightly, sure, but Dean would deny the high-pitched squeak it forced out of him until his dying day.

In the shower, he sped up his hand as he replayed the next three seconds over and over, heat spiralling out through his limbs and a ball of desperation boiling in the pit of his stomach.

“ _I like it when you do things to me.”_

It wasn’t even dirty, really. But in that voice, with those eyes staring at him and those fingers wrapped around his dick… well. Dean was still surprised he hadn’t come in his pants to be honest, half-soft or not.

He came now. Hard.

He shoved his fist into his mouth, biting down at the base of his thumb to hold back the stuttering grunt that threatened to echo off the shower walls. His abs ached as he rode it out, curled forward over his fist in a rigid arch. Fucking _Cas_. Spots flashed across his vision and he had to brace himself against the tiles as his knees wobbled dangerously.

When the last of his cum had slithered down the drain and he started to be able to think whole thoughts again Dean rinsed off and stumbled out onto the bathmat. He spared a second to be thankful he hadn’t taken too long and let the hot water to run out. That was never a good way to end his happy-time.

The scratchy towel sent mini tremors through him as he dried himself, an extra little layer of pleasure as the tingling hum of his orgasm still crawled under his skin. He dressed in soft sweats and brushed his teeth, suddenly so ready for sleep that the shitty the futon sounded pretty irresistible. That done, he shuffled out into the darkened living room and checked the lock at the front door. He checked the windows and listened for a minute at Sam’s door, hoping to hear the soft snoring Sam violently swore he didn’t do and smiling when he caught it. Good. The kid needed to cut himself a little slack. Going to bed early and actually sleeping was a huge improvement over the last couple weeks of crazy studying. Tessa would be proud.

As quietly as he could Dean folded the futon down and gathered up his pillows and blanket, making a little nest in the middle. He crawled in, bunching the blanket around his hips and smashing the pillow a few times to soften it up. He wriggled around until he was comfortable and let out a satisfied sigh.

It only took a minute before his mind was right back where it had been ten minutes ago, up against that wall with Cas’s hand on his dick. Now that Dean had given himself permission to feel his damn feelings the dirty thoughts about Cas were pretty much constant. Sometimes they faded to the background, into something soft and patient. And sometimes - like about half an hour ago - they came roaring up into his head as all his blood rushed south, demanding his immediate and undivided attention.

He hadn’t felt like this about anyone in a long time, maybe not ever. It was sort of scary to think that way about a seventeen year old kid, but then again it made sense. Cas was just different. He was definitely more mature than Dean had been at seventeen. Hell, he was probably mature than Dean was now. And on top of that Dean wasn’t used to this shit. _Relationships._ He was good in bed, sure, but the rest of it had always been a struggle. The emotional shit. _Talking_. But he and Cas had gotten a ton of that out of the way before either of them had breathed a word about wanting the other person. What with Sam and Finnerman, the garage and Lucifer, Cas’s dad, it was like they’d crammed a whole year’s worth of emotional bullshit into a few months. They’d bonded and shit. So maybe it wasn’t so surprising that Cas filled up his head so completely now that Dean was finally allowed to let him.

As he sank slowly down into sleep he ran the fingers of one hand over the bite-mark still fresh and sore on the other and smiled. Yeah, tonight had been pretty damn good.

 

* * * *

 

Castiel thumped his fist into his pillow in frustration, desperate for sleep. It was nearly three a.m. and his tests began in the morning. But instead of getting some much-needed rest he’d spent the last four hours reliving the moment when Dean had pressed him up against the flaking wall of Ellen’s bar over and over and over again.

He hadn’t missed the change in Dean when he’d caught sight of Cas this evening in his old prep school basics. Dean’s eyes widening, his shoulders snapping square to Cas’s as he took in the sight of him had been flattering in a way Castiel couldn’t remember ever having known. He’d made a joke, laughing away the tension as Castiel asked for a water. And then Dean had touched him, roughing up his hair and dragging the pads of his fingers deliciously over Castiel’s scalp. For a moment Cas had considered climbing over the bar to kiss him, spectators be damned. But that wasn’t appropriate and he’d fought down the urge, simply tilting his head when Dean’s eyes widened even further.

Then Jo had come to collect him from the bar and when Dean passed him his drink he’d gone with her. He was here to see her and Alfie, after all. Their “anti-study session” as they were calling it, to release a bit of tension before midterms. Sam had declined the invitation, insisting he was almost ready and just needed a little more time to study before the morning. So Cas sat with Alfie and Jo and ate french fries and drank soda and laughed and avoided speaking about school at all. He’d kept his eye on Dean the rest of the night, however, greedily hoarding every heated glance Dean shot his way.

The feeling of being wanted this way was an entirely novel sensation and Castiel found he liked it. He liked it very much. The desire in Dean’s look whenever they were together made him feel powerful and vulnerable simultaneously. That he could affect someone so vital and stubborn and strong simply by being near him was an intoxicating privilege. That he could become restless just from the slight flare of Dean’s pupils was terrifying. And the kissing. The kissing was superb. It was glorious. It was so wonderful he was still surprised he managed to ever do anything else when he and Dean were in the same room. Sometimes he felt himself unravelling, lost in the pressure of Dean’s hands and Dean’s heat and Dean’s _everything_ so close and never close enough.

Dean never seemed to mind when Castiel pushed harder, though. In fact Cas was almost certain that Dean _liked_ it. The sounds he made whenever Cas unthinkingly gripped him hard, the catch of air in his throat when Cas pressed his hips to Dean’s were thrilling. And thrilled. And the idea that Dean liked this about him only drove Cas to push further. He had no experience with this sort of intimacy so he just let himself go, doing whatever felt natural and trusting Dean to correct him if he strayed away from what was customary. He wanted to touch, so he touched. He wanted to kiss, so he kissed. He wanted Dean closer, always closer, and Dean was always happy to oblige.

Cas smiled into his pillowcase, stifling a snort as he recalled the bizarre chirp Dean had let out when Castiel allowed his hand to wrap around Dean’s penis. Dean had looked so shocked that for a moment Castiel had been sure he’d done something wrong. Perhaps he’d gone too far for a back parking lot under a dim security light. But then Dean had pushed forward, his arms quivering where they were braced alongside Castiel’s head and a sharp burst of hot air flaring across Castiel’s neck. Dean did not object, he was only surprised. In that moment Castiel had felt more powerful than he’d ever felt in his life. Dean, trembling against him in the chill night air, not even touching him as his fists pressed into the wood siding well away from Cas.

It was a position Castiel found himself in often now, pressed up against a wall with Dean trapping him there. Dean could back away easily if Castiel pushed too far but he almost never did. He almost never pushed forward either, allowing Castiel to guide his body as he saw fit with hands and tongue and teeth. He was pliant when Castiel tugged at him, solid when Castiel leaned into him. It was like Dean was offering up his body, showing Cas that he could have whatever he was willing to take without worrying if Dean could handle it.

Just thinking of it made Castiel start to sweat. He rolled onto his back, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was no use. He wasn’t going to sleep until he dealt with what Dean had started the moment Castiel had walked into the roadhouse.

Cas listened for a moment for any sounds from Gabriel’s room. He heard none. Good. It wasn’t a large apartment and he did not want to risk his brother overhearing him. Luckily, though Gabriel rarely slept more than five hours a night, once he was asleep it was next to impossible to wake him. Once, over the summer, Castiel had actually vacuumed the entire apartment while Gabriel slept blissfully on the couch.

So it was with a certain degree of confidence that Castiel slid his boxers down to his knees, shivering in the chilly air. His desk was close enough that the small bottle of hand lotion he kept there was within reach and he pumped a small amount onto his hand before rubbing his palms together to warm it up. Since meeting Dean this sort of activity had become more frequent and much more intense. He had discovered in that time that warming the lotion up was essential to a pleasant start.

As his fingers slipped over his penis his head fell backward, a shaking breath drifting through his lips. Dean. He was fascinating. The man who could take over every free space in Castiel’s head and heart was happy to yield to him in matters of touch. He could give what Castiel didn’t even know to take, he could guide and be guided at the same time. He could allow Castiel to be greedy when it suited him. Like when he’d touched him tonight. Dean had only been partially erect when Castiel had gripped him but still Cas had wanted so _much_ from just that one touch. His mouth watered as he thought of the heat of Dean’s flesh in his fingers, a desperate urge he hadn’t understood at all making his tongue tingle. He’d licked Dean’s ear, thinking perhaps that was what he wanted. Dean had done that to him a few times and he could admit it was a lovely feeling. But even as he’d drawn his mouth back down Dean’s neck and felt his racing pulse he’d known he wanted something else. Something more. He’d wanted to kiss more of Dean, all of Dean.

Of course Dean had stopped him. Quite rightly, too. The half-frozen parking lot behind the Roadhouse wasn’t exactly the proper place for such activities but a small part of Castiel wished Dean had let him continue. How would it be to press his mouth against the thighs that had shaken against his? Would Dean’s fingers taste the way his throat did?

Would that warmth in Castiel’s hand have felt the same against his lips?

Castiel tossed his head to the side imagining it, a short, coughing grunt escaping him. He slipped his other hand down, drawing blunt nails up the skin on the inside of his thigh. He wanted Dean here with him now, to help him find out.

He shoved his t-shirt up and ran his fingers over his ribs, remembering the way Dean touched him there sometimes. So gentle but with such deliberate intention that it never failed to send Cas leaning further into him. He moved faster, squirming as his head flooded with thoughts of Dean. Every kiss, every touch, he was going mad with it. He tried to focus, to bring it down to just one moment that he could savour. Dean’s head dropping onto his shoulder as Cas gripped him gently. The broken little huff of air against his neck. The hope that if he had dropped to his knees in that moment Dean would not have stopped him, would have been powerless to fight off his own need for Castiel…

If Castiel had had any extra brain cells not dissolving into stardust he might have spared them to thank whatever power was listening that Gabriel was such a deep sleeper. The little cry that tumbled from Castiel’s lips at the first warm splash of semen on his belly might have been embarrassing otherwise. As it was he thrashed quietly, drowning in thoughts of Dean, Dean, Dean.

By the time it was over he was exhausted, sticky and so blissfully satisfied he would most likely sleep straight through his alarm in the morning. As a precaution against Gabriel bursting in to discover why his little brother hadn’t woken in time Castiel cleaned himself up with a tissue from his desk, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. He tugged his boxers up and burrowed beneath his covers, his eyelids refusing to open all the way after his exertions.

The final thought to drift through his mind as sleep finally claimed him was just how far Dean might let him push the next time.


	30. Timestamp: April 15th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, folks! No, I didn’t abandon this fic forever and always, I promise! After an unforgivably long time away I’ve made a few decisions. Decision number one: this timestamp will in fact be the last chapter of this fic. Any future updates will be me re-uploading edited versions of existing chapters. Decision number two: there’s far too much I still want to do with this story to make that the actual end. I have barely touched on Sam’s story, and there’s still so much I want to work out for Cas and Dean. There will be a SEQUEL to Love, All Alike, starting up very, very soon. I even plan on sticking to a tight, weekly update schedule! Please keep an eye out if you like this little world. Also, I will be posting another, more canon-compliant fic in the very near future.  
> To everyone who’s read, commented, and given kudos - I can’t say thank you enough. This was my first foray into fan-fiction and your support has made this a bright spot in my day every time I posted. I accomplished more with this piece than I ever expected and so much of that is down to the support I found here. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Gabriel slouched back in his chair, rubbing two fingers at his temple in an attempt to banish the pinching headache behind his eyes.

Frigging Curtis.

Gabe had hoped when he hired the accounting minor two years ago as his assistant that it would save him from ever having to fill out another tax return in his life. Turned out the kid was next to useless. That he’d even passed third grade math was a damning inditement of the American educational system.

For the second year in a row Curtis had screwed up so hard Gabriel hadn’t even been able to salvage the original paperwork. So here sat Gabe, rupturingdisk in the shitty computer chair trying to do actual work before the IRS beat his door down and snatched his last flour sifter. With a curse he shoved a stack of vintage playboys aside and spread the receipts for the new flooring across the desk.

“Lucky you’re a damn good cook, Curtis” he muttered, crouching over his computer again, “Otherwise I’d have tossed you out on your ass, you moron.”

The boxes and ticks were starting to blur together before he finally decided that you know what, he’d rather be audited than sit here another minute working on this shit. He hit save and sighed as the pinter whirred to life, scrubbing a hand over his face. His back popped in time with the creaking chair as he stretched, glancing up at the Woody Woodpecker clock he’d found at a yard sale. He’d have to be in the shop in a few hours, he realized. No real point going to bed now.

He fished his phone out of his back pocket, debating whether Kiera would be awake and open to a late-night booty call. The blond was stacked and smarter than she let on, just the type that drove him wild. They’d had a few fun nights here and there but when Gabe had floated the idea of maybe having a dirty weekend away she’d pumped the brakes hard. She’d hinted at a messy breakup in her recent past and he had no intention of pushing her towards anything serious. Still, he hadn’t heard from her since and somehow he doubted the three a.m. “You awake?” text was the best toe to dip in that water just now. 

“Might as well read those catalogues then.” He sighed, minimizing the tax program and pulling up his browser. The little deck oven in the back of the shop was on the verge of crapping out on him for good, despite Ash having MacGyvered the fuck out of it four or five times. He’d had the money to replace it for years now, but he was sort of attached to the shitty little thing. It was the first piece of equipment he’d bought six years ago. The very first loaf of bread to be sold at Reynard's had come out of that monster, and Gabe was willing to admit - to himself at least - that it held a special place in his heart.

In the last month or two it had gone from fiddly on the temperature settings, to temperamental, to downright bipolar. Sentiment or not it had come to the point where that piece of junk was about as functional as an oven as Curtis was as an accounts manager. Gabriel was basically left with a giant paperweight-come-fire hazard filling up one corner of his kitchen and the place was just to busy for that.

The new catalogues he’d ordered online for a replacement had been sitting in his inbox for a couple weeks, just waiting for him to find a free five minutes and the wherewithal to actually open them. He pulled up his inbox and pursed his lips at the long list of junk-mail waiting after just a few hours.

“I do not need six extra inches of dick, thanks.” He muttered, deleting the first group of emails. Despite his filters and privacy settings he seemed to get dozens of these stupid things every week. Did people actually fall for this crap?

“Of course they do.” He answered himself. “I will also not be funding a Nepalese resistance movement.” Another batch deleted. Clicking away, his eyes glazing over as he thought longingly of his nice soft down pillows, he nearly missed it.

 

C. Novak. - Subject: Please Advise

 

He blinked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his free hand. “Castiel?” Deep in the core of him something clenched, holding tight to the memory of black hair and blue, blue eyes. How the hell long had it been? Four years? Jesus.

Fumbling with the mouse, he opened the email. 

 

**Dear Gabriel,**

**I hope this finds you well. I apologize for being unable to contact you in such a very long time. When father found out I had been writing to you four years ago he forbid me from doing so again, as we often thought he might.**

 

“Bastard” Gabe growled, his fingers clenching on his denim-clad thigh. It wasn’t surprising. Eli Novak was a controlling, petty dick. Probably checked the kid’s emails regularly for some bizarre quasi-disciplinary reason.

 

**I realize that that may be an unreasonable request after such a long silence, but I am writing to ask your advice. Tonight I left home. I will not be going back. I have concluded that father will never accept my homosexuality, of which I had assumed he was aware (and hope you were before this email), as a part of who I am. I find myself unwilling to live with a man who believes me evil.**

 

**Leaving was a sudden decision brought about by unfortunate events and therefore I admit I had not thought it through as thoroughly as I probably should have. I am currently at the bus station in Hartford, Connecticut making use of their free computer terminals. I have less than twenty dollars with me and little else but my passport. Since you left home in a similar fashion I was hoping you could advise me as to the best course of action. I am afraid of contacting any of father’s friends for assistance as I fear they would simply send me back to him. If you have any suggestions I would greatly appreciate your aid.**

 

**Your brother,**

**Castiel**

 

The air left Gabriel in a rush; half laugh, half exasperated huff. “I know you’re my brother, you little nerd.” He muttered to the screen. The whole email read like he was writing a job application, which would have been sad, even mildly insulting, if it weren’t so very Castiel.

Castiel.

Bright, brilliant, _good_ little Cassie had left. In the middle of the night. On his own. With nothing. A wild, _proud_ grin spread across Gabriel’s face.

“He pulled a me.” He giggled. The laughter only lasted a few seconds before a rockslide of memories flattened it in his chest.

Cold.

It had been frigging freezing the night Gabe left home. His fine wool coat had protected his arms and his torso from the worst of the sting but his stupid wing-tips had nearly cost him a toe. Probably the only reason he still had twenty wiggling digits was that he’d had the sense to find the local library. He and two homeless women shared a table until nearly dawn, each pretending to read whatever book had been closest to hand so the librarian wouldn’t kick up a fuss and chuck them out. He’d sat there staring at the pages of Dante's’ Inferno and not seen a single line of text, his head too filled with anger, fear, and panic.

Shit. It had been fucking terrifying _._ Walking out had been hard enough. It felt like he was leaving Castiel to fend for himself in the lion’s den, leaving him with their family. But he had to. He _had_ to get out. That had been the longest damn night of his life, sitting there in a scratchy old chair with a dusty old book trying to think what the hell he was going to do with his life. The hours he’d wondered where the fuck he was going to go. How was he going to make money? The hours more he’d debated going back, sticking it out for Cassie’s sake…

Goddamnit he was proud. Of course Cassie was gay. Gabe had known, obviously. How their father had missed that all these years was a frigging wonder.

“He’s a selfish, egotistical bigot, that’s how.” He answered himself. “Guy barely spent more than an hour with us a week. Not exactly a recipe for knowing our ins and outs.”

And when that absolute fucktrumpet of a father had finally told Castiel - his youngest _son_ \- that he was damned to hell for just being who he was, Cassie had stood up and walked the hell out.

“Always had more balls than the rest of them.” He muttered, not bothering to wipe at the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

There was too much to do to sit here getting all weepy. He’d have to make up the couch with some extra sheets and blankets, have to see about clearing all this shit out of the “office” and setting up a bed in here. If anyone needed their own room with a locking door, after all, it was a seventeen-year-old boy. Gabe knew that from experience. He’d have to contact the school about getting Castiel registered and look into the process of becoming a legal guardian. Maybe Angela and Curtis could take care of the shop tomorrow while he took Castiel shopping for food and some basics and stuff…

“Getting a little ahead of myself.” Gabriel grumbled, opening another search window. “First thing’s first.” He googled bus tickets from Connecticut and Kansas, barely noticing the prices. “Lucky for you, kid, I happen to know that what a Novak striking out into the great, wide world needs most is someone looking out for them.” He leapt up, running to retrieve his wallet and credit cards. One bus ticket purchased, he opened a reply to the email and began typing furiously.

“And equally luckily,” he continued cheerfully to his grinning reflection in the computer screen as he hit _send_ , “you already have it in spades.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so much for all your support.  
> I will be getting to the sequel as soon as I can but until then I've posted a new work that's not an AU! Take a look at "Along the Bending Path, Away" if you're interested in seeing how I work with more canon-compliant material.
> 
> UPDATE: The first installment of the sequel, "Though The Stars Walk Backward" is now up!


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